


Meeting Through The Window

by FollowTheFirefly



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys being awkwardly adorable, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollowTheFirefly/pseuds/FollowTheFirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bahorel and Jehan meet by seeing each other in the windows of their apartments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Window Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea while working on a Red Vs Blue fic a few days ago. I know its a kind of cheesy concept, but I've got some interesting ideas (I hope they're interesting) that'll make this one a good one (again- I hope).

“So you’re sure that you’re fine with me moving in?”

Combeferre had to roll his eyes at Jehan as the two carried large boxes of the latter’s belongings into the spare bedroom of the apartment. The poet’s apartment had just been demolished to make room for a new strip mall and since Joly and Bossuet had decided to share rooms, they had an empty room to spare. Combeferre had suggested that Jehan take the empty room, which Jehan had accepted readily. 

“Jehan, it’s totally fine,” Combeferre assured him. “And before you ask, yes, everyone here is cool with it, too.”

“Okay, if you guys are sure,” Jehan said as he followed Combeferre into the empty room, both men setting the boxes down on one side of the room. “Where is everyone else, by the way?” 

“They’re at the political meeting that I’m normally at,” Combeferre said. 

“So why aren’t you there now?” Jehan asked as they picked up some more boxes from the living room.

“Because I thought you’d like some help moving in,” Combeferre offered Jehan a small smile.

“You could have gone to the meeting,” Jehan told him. “I could have done this by myself.”

“Well, too late,” Combeferre said. “Plus, I figured two of the members would be arguing about things since it ended pretty badly last week.”

“That sucks,” Jehan said, setting his box on the bed. 

“It’s even worse since they live together,” Combeferre went on. “In this complex, I think.”

“Is that so?” Jehan was only half listening at this point: he’d started to moved Joly’s bookshelf around to the other side of the room. 

“Yeah, I think they’re across from the courtyard,” Combeferre nodded in response as he dropped his box on the desk. 

“Why is it set up like that, anyway?” Jehan asked, turning to face Combeferre. “Do you have any idea?”

“The original owner of the complex really loved courtyards, so he had one built when the place went up,” Combeferre said. “It’s nice. I bring dates down there sometimes.”

“I just can’t picture you as a dating type, ‘Ferre,” Jehan joked.

“Hey, just because I’m not seeing anyone right now doesn’t mean that I’m not the dating type,” Combeferre said. 

“But it sucks that the last guy didn’t work out,” Jehan said with a shrug. “He seemed nice.”

“Until I caught him sleeping with his twin brother, you mean?” Combeferre said.

“Yeah, it got about nine levels of strange then,” Jehan nodded. “Kinda like a scene from ‘Game of Thrones’, now that I think about it.”

“Well, I hate to leave you to unpack by yourself, but I do have to run,” Combeferre said, heading towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” Jehan blinked in confusion.

“It’s my turn for grocery shopping this week and today is grocery day,” Combeferre explained. “If Joly and Bossuet come home and find that I’ve not done the shopping, I’ll get hell for it.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want that to happen,” Jehan said. “Go on, I can manage things from here.”

“Call me if you need anything while I’m out,” Combeferre said, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

Jehan turn around and stared at the mountain of boxes in front of him. Luckily, most of the boxes were of clothes and few with pieces of furniture- like the bookshelves- but there were a lot with boxes of books and gaming consoles and Jehan didn’t want to think about the boxes filled to the brim with his notebooks of poetry.

“I guess I should probably get started,” Jehan stretched his arms out in front of him, cracking his knuckles.

The first task, Jehan decided, would be to assemble all of the bookshelves. After all, he’d need a place to put his books when he got them out of the boxes. 

“Why do I own so many books, anyway?” Jehan sighed. 

After shoving one of the bookcases next to the window, Jehan decided that he’d open the window to let some of the cool night air into the room. 

“It’s such a lovely night out,” Jehan said to himself. “I might have to work on some poetry later.”

Grabbing the nearest box of books, Jehan began to put his books on the purple bookshelf, though it was covered with stickers for local bands and others showing some of his favourite literature quotes. By this time, Prouvaire was seriously starting to wonder how he’d accumulated all of those books.

“It’s a bit much,” Jehan said as he shelved a few Sylvia Plath books. 

At that moment, the sound of a door slamming shut sounded from outside the window, followed by the sound of something being thrown on a soft surface.

Curious, Jehan stood up and looked through the window. Looking down into the courtyard proved to be fruitless, so he looked into the window of the apartment across from the open space. What he saw startled him.

There was a man staring at him through the open window.

-

“I swear to God, it’s not like you ever do anything around here!”

“Excuse me? Did I really just hear you say that?”

“I believe you just did.”

“Well, if I do nothing, then explain who the fuck cleaned the entire living room of your fucking mess this morning?”

“That ‘mess’ was my homework and my rally notes and you know it.”

“You know the rules, Enjolras. Anything left on the floor gets thrown out.”

“But you can’t throw out my fucking homework, Grantaire.”

The door slammed shut and Bahorel sighed as he slumped down to the floor after he tossed his bag onto his bed. After a long day of actually attending classes- Courfeyrac had forced him to go- he didn’t really want to come home to Enjolras and Grantaire arguing with each other. 

Not that it was anything new. Enjolras and Grantaire always fought.

“I’m wondering when they’re going to break up, honestly,” Bahorel sighed again, forcing himself off the floor. 

He walked over to his bed, which was right next to the open window and threw himself onto the soft mattress, managing to avoid hitting his school bag in the process. 

“Damn, it’s such a nice night out, too,” Bahorel said to himself. 

Sitting up, Bahorel heard noises from the other side of the window. 

“Is something going on in the apartment across the courtyard?” Bahorel thought to himself. 

Lifting himself up on his elbows, Bahorel looked out the window to find another man staring back at him.

Not in a creepy, stalkerish manner, of course. Bahorel had never seen this man before. Granted, he didn’t know anyone who lived in the apartment across the courtyard, so the man could have lived there the whole time and Bahorel would have never known.

“Everything okay over there?” the man asked, dark eyes showing his concern.

“Yeah, I’ve…” Bahorel started to say before he changed his mind. “It’s just been a really long day.”

“That sucks,” the man said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Well, it’s nothing I’m not used to,” Bahorel responded, turning so that he was properly facing the man he was having a conversation with through an open window, which still seemed a tad strange to him. “My room-mates are in a relationship and they fight all the time.”

“Sounds like they should call it off,” the man said, putting his elbows on the window ledge. 

“That’s what I think,” Bahorel said. “Enjolras always gets pissed because Grantaire is always drunk, but Grantaire’s not going to call it off because he’s been pining after Enjolras since we all moved in five years ago.”

“Have they been together long?” the man asked curiously.

“A little over a year, I think,” Bahorel had to think about it for a moment before he gave his answer.

“That’s a long time,” the man responded. “Oh, I’m Jehan, by the way. Just so you have a name.”

“I’m Bahorel,” Bahorel responded. “Did you just move in? Or have you been there this whole time and I’ve been blissfully oblivious?”

“No, I just moved in today,” Jehan replied with a little laugh.

“Oh, okay,” Bahorel nodded. “It’s nice to know that I haven’t been ignoring your presence for years or something like that.”

“Do you make it a habit to talk to people in other apartments through your window or am I the first?” Jehan asked 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bahorel responded. “You’re the one who started this conversation, remember?”

“Well, I hear a door slam and the sounds of something being thrown,” Jehan explained. “I wasn’t sure if you were escaping from the zombie apocalypse or if you’d just had a rough day.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Bahorel said with a smile.

“I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but I do have quite a lot to unpack,” Jehan said. “Can we talk again sometime?”

“Sure, we can do that,” Bahorel nodded. “I should probably start working on making dinner, anyway.”

“What are you making?” Jehan asked curiously.

“I’m thinking of bacon alfredo,” Bahorel responded. “My other room-mate, Courfeyrac, really likes it.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Jehan said. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“And good luck unpacking,” Bahorel said before both men shut the windows. 

He turned around and slid off the bed and onto the floor. It wasn’t every day that you met someone through a window conversation, but Bahorel had a strange feeling that he wanted those conversations with Jehan to continue.


	2. Second Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't think I'd get this chapter up so soon, but I really liked how I finalized the chapter. This was a ton of fun to write, so I hope its a good read!

“So Bahorel, did I hear you talking on the phone with someone or are you finally going crazy from all of those law classes you’re meant to be attending?”

Bahorel turned his around from the table so he could properly talk to Enjolras from where he stood at the sink washing dishes. The dinner had gone over well, considering the fact that Enjolras and Grantaire had been fighting with each other earlier in the day. Courfeyrac had arrived just as Bahorel was dishing out the pasta, saying that his biology lab had been held over and that the buses were running late. 

It took Bahorel a few seconds to realize what Grantaire was talking about. He didn’t remember having any phone conversations with anyone, but then he remembered his window conversation he’d had with Jehan earlier that day. To anyone who had not been in Bahorel’s bedroom, it would make sense that he was on the phone with someone.

“Nah, I wasn’t on the phone with anyone,” Bahorel responded before he finished the last of the alfredo on his plate. 

“I knew it,” Courfeyrac said after taking a drink from his bottle of Mountain Dew. “Bahorel’s finally lost it.”

“I haven’t lost it, smart-ass,” Bahorel rolled his eyes.

“So who were you talking to if not to yourself?” Grantaire asked curiously.

“The guy in the apartment across the courtyard,” Bahorel said. “We both had our windows open and he started up a conversation.”

“Aww,” Courfeyrac said with a smile.

“How is that an ‘aww’ statement?” Bahorel frowned in confusion.

“He thinks you two are going to hook up now,” Enjolras rolled his eyes as he rinsed off some forks. “You know how much of a hopeless romantic Courfeyrac is.”

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been with anyone, Bahorel,” Courfeyrac said in a whiny sort of voice. “And even longer since you went on an actual date.”

“Well excuse me for not prioritizing my love life,” Bahorel said in response. 

“Is he cute, at least?” Courfeyrac wanted to know. 

“I wasn’t paying attention, Courf,” Bahorel stood and walked over to where Enjolras stood, dropping his plates in the sink. “I was actually talking to the guy.”

“But you didn’t see what he looked like?” Grantaire frowned.

“He just looked like a normal person,” Bahorel said. “I don’t see why this is a big deal, anyway.”

“Because I haven’t had a boyfriend in ages and if you don’t get him, I might just make a move,” Courfeyrac said.

“You just broke up with Andre last week, shitbird,” Bahorel said. 

“Yeah, but I’d been ready to dump him three months ago,” Courfeyrac said with the wave of his hand.

“I’m not even going to comment on that one,” Enjolras sighed.

“Do we get to meet him?” Grantaire asked.

“I don’t know!” Bahorel was getting tired of this line of conversation. “I’ve just met him the one time, guys. I might not ever speak to him again.”

“No!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “You have to talk to him!” 

“Courf, why are you getting so worked up over this?” Enjolras dropped a clean plate into the drying rack.

“Because Bahorel rarely shows any romantic interest in anyone!” Courfeyrac exclaimed.

“But he’s not now,” Grantaire said. 

“Oh, its obvious that they’ll end up together,” Courfeyrac said dismissively. 

“How the shit is that obvious?” Bahorel questioned. “Look, I just met the guy. I hardly think its time to decide if we’re destined to be with each other.”

“Do you at least know his name?” Enjolras asked curiously.

“Jehan,” Bahorel nodded in response.

“Jehan and Bahorel,” Grantaire said slowly. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Bahorel rolled his eyes.

“Well, I know I’d like to meet him at some point,” Grantaire could tell that Bahorel was growing agitated with Courfeyrac. “He sounds like a pretty cool guy.”

“Yeah, he really is from what I can tell,” Bahorel said. 

-

Jehan had been waiting in his room for Bahorel to return for quite some time. His room-mates were watching a movie in the living room (Bossuet was overly fond of ‘The Princess Bride’) and even though they’d invited him to join them, Jehan was tired from unpacking. He still had a little bit to take out of boxes, but he was calling it a night for now. 

What he really wanted to do was speak to Bahorel again. He seemed like he was an interesting person to talk to, even though they’d only spoken the one time. In hopes that he would see him again, Jehan had taken up his post at his desk sitting at the window. The plan was to write poetry until Bahorel returned (if he did at all), but he found that for the first time in quite a long time, the words wouldn’t come to his mind.

The sound of a door slamming shut outside the window caught Jehan’s attention, causing him to look up into Bahorel’s apartment. Sure enough, Bahorel was back, looking quite frustrated about something. 

Rather than talk to him immediately, Jehan decided to wait for a few minutes to let Bahorel get settled. After all, he didn’t want to seem to be too anxious to talk to him.

Jehan didn’t have to wait too long, however. After a moment, Bahorel looked through the window and saw Jehan staring back at him.

“Looks like I’ve got a stalker now,” Bahorel responded, though he was smiling.

“Oh yeah,” Jehan laughed. “How are things with your room-mates? And how was dinner?”

“They calmed down a bit after I forced them to sit down and talk about it. And dinner was pretty tasty,” Bahorel answered. “Thanks for asking.”

“Anytime,” Jehan smiled as a response. “Got any plans for the rest of the night?”

“Why, asking me out?” Bahorel responded jokingly.

“N-no,” Jehan stuttered, though he could feel his cheeks burning.

“Nah, I’m actually about to go to bed soon. Since, you know, it’s after midnight,” Bahorel said. “Courfeyrac is making me go to my law classes tomorrow morning, so I need sleep.”

“Law, huh?” Jehan had to admit that he was impressed. “I bet you’re pretty smart, then.”

“Nah, that’s Enjolras,” Bahorel shook his head. “My parents are forcing me to become a lawyer like my dad and his dad and his dad and so on and so forth.”

“Well, what do you really want to do?” Jehan asked, somehow managing to look Bahorel in the eyes despite the large distance between them.

“I’ve never actually thought about it,” Bahorel said with a shrug. “My life’s always been decided for me, you know?”

“You’ve never wondered?” Jehan asked curiously. 

“Well, now that I think about it, there was one thing…” Bahorel said, looking rather embarrassed.

“What’s there to get embarrassed about?” Jehan really wanted to know what it was now. “So what was it?”

“You can’t laugh,” Bahorel said.

“Promise,” Jehan vowed.

After a moment of hesitation, Bahorel finally responded.

“I really wanted to be a drummer for a rock band.”

“No way,” Jehan couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Can you even play drums?”

“Of course! You might not be able to see it, but I’ve got a drum set back here,” Bahorel was smiling too. “We have rules about not playing instruments before ten in the morning, but if anyone’s still sleeping by one in the afternoon, I’m allowed to start hammering away.”

“No kidding,” Jehan said.

“The best part is when I use the bass drum a lot with the cymbals,” Bahorel laughed. “It pisses the hell out of Enjolras.”

“I guess I’ll be hearing that soon enough,” Jehan said in an amused voice.

“Oh, I could always wait until I see you’re awake,” Bahorel offered.

“How are you going to tell that?” Jehan asked. “My bed is on the other side of the room.”

“Well, I can wait until I see you moving around to know you’re awake,” Bahorel clarified. “Or see if the light’s on, at the very least.”

“You might be sleeping in tomorrow and skipping your class if you don’t go to bed soon,” Jehan said. “It’s getting really late.”

“Oh, so it is,” Bahorel said, checking his phone in surprise. “I ought to go to bed, I guess.”

“Well, I won’t keep you up,” Jehan said. “I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Bahorel nodded. “I should be back by four. I’m normally home by eleven, but I have work tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you when I see you,” Jehan smiled. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too,” Bahorel said as he closed the window.

He turned around and walked to the other side of the room to change into his shorts before he crawled into bed and under the covers, hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, thinking that maybe there was some truth behind what Courfeyrac was saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must credit skeletonsmama for putting the idea in my head that Bahorel's a bass drummer. And the bit with excessive bass drumming is a nod towards his/her story 'House Rules'. It's really a good story, so I recommend reading it.


	3. Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long to get up. Things have been busy at my jobs. It's a bit chaotic, actually. At any rate, enjoy!

“So were you editing some of your poetry last night, Jehan?”

Jehan looked at Joly from across the breakfast table, where the latter was currently munching on some toast. As much as the rest of the apartment’s residents despised breakfast, Joly insisted that they have breakfast together at least once a week and it just so happened that today was that particular day. Combeferre had decided that he wanted toast and apples that morning and it seemed that everyone else was following suit.

“No, I wasn’t editing poetry last night, Joly,” Jehan said.

“Than who were you talking to?” Combeferre asked before he bit into a slice of apple.

“Just a guy who lives in the apartment across the courtyard,” Jehan said through a mouthful of eggs.

“How’d you meet him?” Bossuet frowned.

“We both had our windows open and we started talking one day,” Jehan explained. “He seems pretty cool.”

“Oh yeah?” Joly asked before taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah, he’s apparently studying to be a lawyer, though he doesn’t actually want to have anything to do with it,” Jehan went on.

“Than what does he want to do?” Combeferre asked.

“He said he wanted to be a drummer in a band,” Jehan responded.

“Interesting,” Bossuet said.

“Yeah, he seems like a pretty interesting guy,” Jehan nodded.

“You thinking of asking him out?” Joly asked.

“Say what now?” Jehan blinked in surprise. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

“Well, are you?” Combeferre, who normally didn’t care about such things, looked interested.

“I don’t think so?” was Jehan’s response.

“You didn’t sound so sure of yourself,” Combeferre grinned before he took a drink of orange juice.

“That’s not important!” Jehan exclaimed.

“Well, do we get to meet him, at least?” Joly asked curiously, finishing up his toast.

“I dunno, maybe?” Jehan sounded a bit exasperated. “We’ve only talked a few times.”

“Does he at least want to talk to you again, though?” Bossuet asked as he stood up from the table and brought his dishes over to the sink.

“He says that he does,” Jehan said.

“That’s a good sign, then,” Combeferre nodded.

“I guess. I’m not telling him that you’re trying to hook me up with him, though,” Jehan told them. “I’m not sure how he’d take that.”

 -

Bahorel found quite an interesting sight before him when he arrived home from his law classes. Courfeyrac had managed to get Shae, Grantaire’s hedgehog, to sit on top of the fish-tank where Bahorel’s betta fish was darting in and out of a cluster of barrels. Bahorel had obtained the barrels so his fish, Winston, could have a place to hide throughout the day and the fish had grown rather attached to them. It seemed that Courfeyrac was trying to get Shae to try to play with the betta, though Winston was not supporting such nonsense. While he wouldn’t flare at her, Winston would simply stare at the little hedgehog, as if he were wondering what she was trying to do.

“Courf, what the hell are you doing with Shae?” Bahorel asked warily. “Does R even know you have her?”

“He’s still at his internship,” Courfeyrac grinned. “Besides, Shae needs her exercise!”

“So you terrorize my fish to do that?” Bahorel rolled his eyes before he walked over to Courfeyrac and took Shae from him.

“Winston likes it!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “He isn’t flaring at her!”

“No, but you’re probably stressing him out, which could kill him,” Bahorel said. “And if you kill him, you’re going to have to bury that fish.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “So how was work today?”

“I had to explain to some chick what the difference was between a violin and a trumpet,” Bahorel said with a completely straight face.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“How the hell do you confuse those?” Courfeyrac wondered. “One’s a brass instrument and the other is a strings.”

“Fuck if I know,” Bahorel shrugged as he followed Courfeyrac into the kitchen and set Shae down gently on the table. “I swear to fuck, this job is going to be the death of me.”

“Well, you’re the one who wanted to work in a music shop, remember?” Courfeyrac reminded him, pulling two bottles of Mountain Dew from the fridge and tossing one to Bahorel.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Bahorel caught the beverage and twisted open the cap before taking a drink of it.

“So have you seen window boy today?” Courfeyrac asked.

Bahorel stared at Courfeyrac.

“Window boy,” he said simply.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“He has a name, you know,” Bahorel retorted.

“Yes, but I like my name for him better,” Courfeyrac said.

“No, I haven’t seen him today,” Bahorel said, sitting down at the table. “And why do you ask?”

“Just wondering if you’d seen him,” Courfeyrac sat down across from him. “You should exchange numbers so you can talk to each other properly.”

“Speaking to someone properly would be sitting down and having a conversation,” Bahorel reached out and stroked Shae on the nose. “Not talking to each other through open windows.”

“But you really should exchange numbers,” Courfeyrac said after swallowing a mouthful of soda. “It would be a lot easier for you two to talk that way.”

“You have a point,” Bahorel nodded.

“And its not like you two are strangers,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “So it wouldn’t really be creepy to get his number.”

“Wait a minute…” Bahorel said as he realized something. “Do you want me to get his number so you can ask him out?”

“No!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, though he seemed to be telling the truth. “I told you that you can try to ask him out before I do.”

“Jesus fuck, Courfeyrac, what makes you think that I should ask him out?” Bahorel sighed.

“Well, you _have_ been talking about him a lot lately,” Courfeyrac said offhandedly.

“Just because I talk about Jehan a lot doesn’t mean that I want to ask him out,” Bahorel said flatly. “It just means that I find him to be an interesting person.”

“I think you should do it, at any rate,” Courfeyrac shrugged, reaching for a bag of jelly beans that were sitting on the table.

“Do what?” Bahorel asked.

“Ask him out!” Courfeyrac exclaimed.

“I’m sure I’m going to regret this, but why should I do that?” Bahorel asked, taking a sip of his Mountain Dew.

“Because it’s been forever since you went out on a date, for one thing,” Courfeyrac said.

“I went on a date a few months ago!” Bahorel exclaimed. “With that creepy guy that you tried to set me up with at the bar, remember? The one with the eye-patch?”

“That’s been months, ‘Rel, and you know it,” Courfeyrac said with a sigh.

“Stop calling me that,” Bahorel shuddered at Courfeyrac’s use of the dreaded nickname.

“And I think you really do want to go out with him,” Courfeyrac said, looking Bahorel straight in the eyes. “Whether you want to admit it to yourself or not.”

 -

 Jehan sighed as he powered off his DS and folded it shut. No matter how many levels he gained and hours he spent grinding, he just couldn’t beat that particular boss.

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be right now,” Jehan said, rolling his eyes at the absurd notion that fate was deciding that he wouldn’t progress in this game today.

Rolling over onto his side, Jehan’s eyes surveyed the room, though his mind was doing something else entirely. He was mainly focusing on an upcoming paper for his English class in addition to the several hundred pages of Shakespeare that he had been tasked to read over the weekend. He had so much work to do that Jehan doubted that he’d get any poetry written at all.

“Jehan, are you over there?”

Jehan frowned as he heard his name being called. He knew his room-mates were out: Joly and Bossuet were with Musichetta and Combeferre was at work. So who could possibly be calling for him?

Jehan sat up so fast that his head spun and he faced towards the window to see that Bahorel had his open and was sitting on his bed at the window, waiting to see if the poet was there. Jehan quickly unlocked the window and threw it open.

“I didn’t see you there, so I didn’t know if you were in,” Bahorel was happy to see that Jehan was there.

“Yeah, I was trying to beat a boss in this game I’m playing,” Jehan said with a sigh. “I’ve been trying for hours and I still can’t do it.”

“Have you tried grinding for a bit?” Bahorel suggested, resting his arms on the windowsill. “That can help.”

“I did for about three hours, but it just doesn’t seem to help,” Jehan responded. “Maybe I’m so far under-leveled that I need to start over again.”

“That would really suck,” Bahorel frowned.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jehan nodded. “I’ve been playing this for years and I don’t seem to be any good at it.”

“Do you just not play it very much?” Bahorel asked. “Do you not like it?”

“Oh, I do enjoy it,” Jehan responded, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I just have to be in the mood to play it and that doesn’t happen very often.”

‘That makes sense,” Bahorel nodded. “I get that way with games sometimes.”

“So what’s up? Did you need to talk about something?” Jehan leaned forward and rested his chin on the windowsill in a particularly lazy move on his part.

“I’ve got a question for you,” Bahorel said.

“And what would that be?” Jehan asked curiously.

“Would you be okay with exchanging phone numbers?” Bahorel asked unblushingly.

“S-sure, it’s okay with me,” Jehan had to admit that this surprised him. “Do you have your phone?”

“Oh, hang on a sec,” Bahorel darted out of view for a minute before he was back, phone in hand. “Go.”

“It’s 777-8143,” Jehan recited, pulling out his own phone while doing so. “And I’m ready for yours.”

“777-2019,” Bahorel said. “So now we can talk whenever we want to. I like these window conversations, but I’d like to talk to you more than this.”

“Yeah, same to you,” Jehan nodded in agreement. “I mean, I like these conversations too, but it would be nice to talk to you other times.”

“And maybe we can actually get together and hang out sometime,” Bahorel said. “I know my room-mates have been dying to meet you.”

“Same with mine,” Jehan nodded. “Do you maybe want to hang out sometime this weekend? If that’s not too soon or anything?” 

“Nah, it’s fine with me,” Bahorel said. “I like that idea. Can I text you about it after class tomorrow? I’ve got an early class that Courfeyrac is making me go to and then I can actually think about it for a bit.”

“That sounds good to me,” Jehan nodded. “Good night and good luck with your class tomorrow.”

“Same to you,” Bahorel nodded.

With that, both men closed their windows, both of them wondering exactly what was going to happen when they finally did start to spend time with each other face to face as opposed to talking through windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, Bahorel's betta is based on my own betta, whom I've named Winston Bahorel because he's always trying to pick fights with my sister's betta in her own tank. I just thought he'd make an amusing addition to the story.


	4. Surprise Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate that it's taken me this long to get this up, but it's a bit longer than I expected. I'm going to start the next chapter as soon as I finish uploading this one, so I hope that one's out sooner.

“I swear to God, Bahorel, why don’t you try to meet up with him somewhere so we don’t have to deal with you texting him all the time?”

Bahorel didn’t have to look up from his phone to know who was talking to him. Courfeyrac hadn’t given up trying to get Bahorel to the point of asking out Jehan and Bahorel knew that this wasn’t going to end anytime soon. It didn’t help matters that they had been texting each other for a little over a month, though they still continued to have their conversations in the window at night. 

Courfeyrac had a point, as much as Bahorel hated to admit it. He wanted to spend some time with the other man so they could have an actual conversation face to face and not via texts or half hanging out of their windows. Every time Bahorel was about to bring it up, Jehan mentioned that he had plans. Bahorel was wondering if he was ever going to get to speak to Jehan like a normal person (as Grantaire phrased it) at all. 

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying to?” Bahorel continued typing away, his thumbs gliding over the keyboard of his phone. 

“It doesn’t look like you’ve been trying very hard,” Courfeyrac said, tossing the TV remote up in the air and catching it in his hand. 

“That’s because he’s always busy,” Bahorel sent the message and slid his phone shut, resting it on the couch next to him. “I was going to ask him to hang out this weekend, but he said that he’s going to this thing with his room-mates.”

“What sort of thing?” Courfeyrac was curious.

“I dunno,” Bahorel hadn’t asked for details. “He said it was something political.”

“Well, I still think you should get together for coffee or something at the Musain,” Courfeyrac said, spinning around in the recliner. “Having a relationship of any kind via texting is hard to do.”

“What about yours with Mathieu?” Bahorel asked. “You’ve been seeing him for about a month now but you guys text more than Jehan and I do.”

“That’s because we’re actually in a romantic relationship,” Courfeyrac said smugly. “You and Jehan aren’t. Yet.”

“What have I told you about that?” Bahorel said testily. 

“I’m just saying that you could be in a relationship with Jehan like Mathieu and I are,” Courfeyrac said innocently. 

“I don’t know if I’d say that you two are in a relationship,” Bahorel said. “You’re more like fuck buddies.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Courfeyrac said with a shrug. “Are you saying that you wouldn’t want to have a similar relationship with Jehan?”

“Don’t antagonize him, Courf,” Grantaire said as he came into the living room, dirty paintbrushes in hand and covered head to toe with different colours of paint.

“How’d it go?” Bahorel had grown accustomed to seeing Grantaire covered in paint over the years and didn’t think much of this. “Did you get it finished?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look right,” Grantaire said as he walked into the kitchen. “But I don’t want to have to do it all over again, you know?”

“You’ve been working on it a while now,” Bahorel said. 

“Three months, yeah,” Grantaire’s voice came from the kitchen over the sounds of the running water.

“Don’t forget to clean the sink out,” Courfeyrac reminded him. “You don’t want Enjolras to yell at you like the last time.”

“That’s because I had the brushes soaking on the counter and Shae knocked the glass over,” Grantaire said as he turned off the water and headed back into the kitchen a few seconds later. “That wasn’t actually my doing.”

“It does if you consider that Shae is your hedgehog,” Bahorel said as someone’s cell phone started ringing. “Courf, is that yours?”

“Yeah, it’s Mathieu,” Courfeyrac said. “Hang on, let me take this.”

“Don’t forget that we’ve got the meeting tonight,” Grantaire said as Courfeyrac scuttled off to his bedroom.

“Please tell me that you’re going to shower or something before we go,” Bahorel said, noticing just how much paint was on Grantaire’s clothes. “Or are you not going tonight?”

“No, I’m going,” Grantaire said with a sigh. “You know how Enj gets before a rally. He’ll want all hands on deck and I’m not going to get shit over not going.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Bahorel suddenly remembered that his other room-mate hadn’t been in the apartment since breakfast. 

“He was studying at Musain, so he’s just going to stay there until the meeting,” Grantaire ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Makes sense,” Bahorel said. 

“So am I allowed to ask how things are with Jehan or has Courfeyrac bugged you enough about him?” Grantaire asked hesitantly.

“You’re allowed to ask because you know when to stop,” Bahorel stood up and turned towards Grantaire.

“He means well. He just likes that you’ve found someone new to talk to,” Grantaire explained. “You can be kind of reclusive at times.”

“Well, things seem to be fine, I guess,” Bahorel said. 

“Still texting him?” Grantaire asked.

“Only because we can’t actually meet somewhere to hang out,” Bahorel said. “One of us is always busy.”

“But at least you’re texting,” Grantaire said, heading to the bathroom so he could clean up a little bit. “That’s better than nothing.”

“I guess that’s a point,” Bahorel nodded, seemingly following Grantaire so he could reach his room across the hall from the bathroom.

When they reached the hall, one of the doors opened and Courfeyrac stepped out of his bedroom. Grantaire and Bahorel could tell that something in that phone call had upset him. His eyes looked dead and he had the general appearance of one who had been told that a loved one had died.

“Courf, what’s up?” Bahorel frowned, noticing this odd behavior. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m fine, Mathieu’s fine. The girl he’s dating is fine.”

“He didn’t,” Grantaire said in disbelief. “Why would he do that?” 

“Because apparently he’s not into men like he thought he was?” Courfeyrac shrugged. 

“But that doesn’t give him an excuse to cheat on you and fuck some other chick,” Bahorel pointed out.

“Does it even matter now?” Courfeyrac said angrily. “It’s over, so there’s no point going on about it.”

Without another word, he left the hallway, leaving Grantaire and Bahorel behind.

“I’m going to go make sure he’s okay,” Bahorel said. 

“Yeah, do that,” Grantaire nodded. “I’ll be a minute.”

After ducking into his room for his hoodie, Bahorel went into the kitchen to find Courfeyrac digging through the fridge for something. Bahorel knew how Courfeyrac was whenever one of his relationships was ended, so he knew that he had to tread carefully. 

“I’m not going to make you talk because I know that’s not what you want to do right now, but if you want to get things off your chest, just let me know,” Bahorel said. “I know what this feels like. Trust me.”

“I know you do,” Courfeyrac had been there when Bahorel’s first boyfriend cheated on him with a girl after they’d been together for a year and a half. “I really don’t want to think about that right now.”

“You’re going to the meeting, then?” Bahorel asked.

“I need to think about something else,” Courfeyrac found what he had been looking for: his bottle of green tea. “Besides, Enjolras will bitch for months if I’m not there before the rally tomorrow.”

“I hate it before rallies,” Bahorel reached behind Courfeyrac and grabbed his bottle of Coke from the counter. “I don’t mind the rallies themselves, but before it’s just awful.”

“I agree completely,” Courfeyrac nodded. “Are you driving tonight?”

“I have to,” Bahorel said. “R’s car is in the shop and Enjolras is already there.”

“Why do we drive there, anyway?” Courfeyrac asked as he and Bahorel headed into the kitchen to wait for Grantaire. “It’s easily within walking distance.” 

“Because it’s really fucking creepy around here at night, remember?” Bahorel responded. “Remember the night when Feuilly got mugged walking home?” 

“Good point,” Courfeyrac nodded. 

-

“Now, I know things are going to be crazy, but I really think you’ll like it here,” Joly told Jehan as they climbed the stairs to the back room at Musain. 

“And these are the guys Combeferre knows?” Jehan asked.

“Theoretically,” Joly responded.

“Theoretically?” Jehan repeated in confusion.

“’Ferre’s only met a few of the guys,” Joly said. “He normally has to work during the meetings so he helps run things from behind the scenes.” They turned a corner and went up another flight of stairs. “This is the first real meeting he’s been to in a while.”

“But I thought he’d been in this organization for a long time?” Jehan asked.

“A lot of the original members left for different reasons,” Joly explained patiently. “The only original ones left now are Enjolras and Combeferre, I think. There’s one guy that Enjolras lives with that helps out a bit, but I’m not sure if he’s an actual member.”

“I see,” Jehan said.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a meeting where the main three are all there,” Joly went on. “It’s either Courfeyrac and Enjolras or Combeferre and Enjolras. When one is there, the other’s missing. And things are so crazy at the rallies that they could have missed each other.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I honestly don’t know if Courfeyrac and Combeferre have even met before.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see what’ll happen.” Jehan said with a smile.

“And these things tend to go on for a while,” Joly said. “We were here until closing one night.”

“But I thought the place closed at two in the morning on most nights?” Jehan asked.

“Exactly,” Joly said as they reached an old oak door that looked like it was about to fall off its hinges. “Well, here we are.” 

Without further ado, Joly opened the door and stepped inside the room, Jehan following behind him. It was a lot bigger than he imagined. And more messy. All of the tables had been pushed together to form one larger table where all of the action took place. Papers littered the floor and books, notebooks and pens were scattered across the tables. Empty bottles of wine and beer were scattered throughout the room and there were a few ashtrays placed strategically on top of maps of the Parisian streets and law books. There was a fireplace on one side of the room, which was currently lit and emitting quite a lot of heat.

Then Jehan noticed the people, students very much like himself. Most of them looked like they were studying law or philosophy or political science, but it seemed that there were a few who could be interested in the arts like himself. Almost everyone was wearing something that you could find at any American Eagle or Hollister.

Yet there was one man standing near the fireplace that looked very out of place, even for this group of people. He looked like he belonged at a metal concert rather than a political meeting. His combat boots and chained cargo pants made him stand out from the men in button-down shirts and jeans. And there was the matter of his hair. Most of the men in the room had simple buzz cuts or more normal-looking hairstyles, but this man was sporting a Mohawk, the tips of which were dyed a very familiar bright red.

“No way,” Jehan hadn’t realized that he’d said anything at all.

“What’s wrong?” Joly frowned.

“I think I know that guy,” Jehan nodded towards the man.

“Who, Bahorel?” Joly asked.

“I knew it,” Jehan said, a smile forming on his lips.

“Why, who is he?” Joly asked.

“The guy I’ve been talking to through the window for the last month,” Jehan explained.

“Seriously? I knew him all this time and I couldn’t figure that out,” Joly rolled his eyes. “He said that he was talking to some guy, but I never thought it would be you.”

“I didn’t know he’d be here,” Jehan said, his eyes still on Bahorel. 

“Well, go say hi,” Joly said, watching Jehan. “I bet he’d like to know you’re here.”

“Yeah…” Jehan was already halfway across the room by the time Joly finished his sentence. 

After darting in and out of the large group of people, Jehan finally reached where Bahorel was standing, gazing out the window looking up at the sky. Trying to ignore the nervous feeling in his stomach, Jehan reached out his hand and gently tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Bahorel turned around and looked quite surprised when he saw Jehan standing behind him.

“I could say the same to you,” he said. “So this is the political group, huh?”

“Looks like it,” Jehan nodded. “How do you know about it?” 

“The leader is my room-mate,” Bahorel gestured towards Enjolras, who was deep in conversation with Courfeyrac and Feuilly.

“No kidding,” Jehan nodded before turning back to Bahorel. “I like the hair, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, you’ve never seen it spiked before, have you?” Bahorel said, absentmindedly reaching his hand up to touch one of the spikes. 

“It looks good on you,” Jehan said with a smile. 

“Thanks,” Bahorel said in response.

“Hey ‘Rel, we’re about to start,” Courfeyrac said as he approached the two men. “Who’s this?”

“Courfeyrac, this is Jehan,” Bahorel introduced Jehan. “Window boy.”

“It’s about time I get to meet him!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. 

“Window boy?” Jehan looked at Bahorel quizzically.

“That’s what he calls you,” Bahorel explained. “Even though he knows what your name is.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Jehan,” Courfeyrac said. “Bahorel’s told us a lot about you.”

“Us?” Jehan was even more confused.

“My room-mates wanted to know who I was talking to,” Bahorel explained. “I live with Courf and Enjolras and Grantaire.”

“Which one is Grantaire?” Jehan asked.

“The one drinking the bottle of wine over in the corner,” Courfeyrac pointed in the right direction.

“Quite an interesting group,” Jehan observed.

“Okay guys, let’s get started,” Enjolras shouted over the noise. “We’ve got lots to do tonight!”

-

“No surprise that Pontmercy didn’t show up.”

Bahorel stared back in the rear-view mirror at Grantaire, who was gazing out the window. The meeting hadn’t gone on as long as everyone had anticipated, but they were still tired, which made sense considering that it was almost one in the morning. Bossuet and Feuilly had threatened mutiny if they didn’t get out before three, which most of the men agreed with and there wasn’t much Enjolras could do to stop them, so they ended up calling it a night relatively early for a night before a rally. 

“Enjolras said that he got called in to work the closing shift, but he’ll be there with Cosette tomorrow,” Bahorel said.

“Do we know if Eponine will be there or not?” Courfeyrac asked, turning the volume down on the radio where Bahorel was playing something loud in German.

“She might be late, but she’s going to try to get there,” Grantaire replied. “She really wants to make this one because she was sick the last time.”

“I felt so bad for her,” Bahorel said. “Getting the flu really sucks.”

“And Combeferre is trying to bring some of his classmates to help out, too,” Grantaire said, going back to the subject. 

“I can’t believe we’ve never met him before,” Courfeyrac said. “Still, it’s nice to meet the guy who’s been running things from behind the scenes.”

“He’s done a pretty good job with it, too,” Bahorel nodded as he slowed the car down for a red light. 

“He seems like a nice guy,” Courfeyrac nodded. “Kind of cute, too.”

“Looking for a rebound already?” Grantaire asked from the backseat.

“I don’t do rebounds and you know it,” Courfeyrac said, drumming his fingers against his knee. “But I wouldn’t say no to a coffee date with him sometime.”

“You could get Jehan to hook you up,” Bahorel said as the light turned green. “He was telling me that he lives with Combeferre and Joly and Bossuet.”

“So we’ve all been living in the same apartment complex this whole damn time and we’re just finding out about it?” Grantaire asked. 

“And it was really nice to finally meet Jehan, too,” Courfeyrac said. 

“It was,” Bahorel nodded.

“But you’ve already met him,” Grantaire pointed out.

“We’ve never hung out before, though,” Bahorel pointed out as the car turned onto their street. 

“Is he coming to the rally tomorrow?” Grantaire asked.

“He says he’s going to,” Bahorel nodded, pulling the car into the apartment complex. 

“That’s good. You two can spend some more time together,” Grantaire said as Bahorel pulled into a parking space and took the key out of the ignition.

“If he wants to, that is,” Bahorel said while everyone clambered out of the car.

“You’re kidding, right?” Courfeyrac asked, slamming the door shut. 

“What do you mean?” Bahorel asked. 

“Of course he wants to spend more time with you,” Courfeyrac said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“And how do you know that?” Bahorel challenged.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Courfeyrac turned to face Bahorel. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you tonight.”


	5. Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I apologize for how long this is, though I really don't think anyone will be complaining. I feel like there was a bit of character development in this one and I had fun writing it. Additionally, there might be more time between chapters being released. I work at a book warehouse and we're in the process of moving, which is taking up a ton of time. By the time I get home, I'm so tired that I can't really write much. Here's what you've got for now, though. Enjoy!

“So wait a minute, you actually tried to convince your parents to let you major in music instead of law?”

Bahorel had a hard time hearing anything Jehan was saying because they were the ones unfortunate enough to be standing right next to the speakers where the music was playing. Rallies were always loud affairs, but Bahorel never understood why they had to be so loud that his ears were ringing by the end.

As usual, things were a sort of organized chaos. Eponine and Grantaire were helping with crowd control, Marius and Bossuet were handing out flyers, Joly was running the medical tent (they never needed one and it was just another thing to worry about, but Joly insisted that they have one regardless) and Bahorel and Jehan had been tasked with running one of the voter registration stands while Feuilly manned the other by himself. Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Combeferre were running around trying to keep everything organized and Jehan had to admit that it looked like they were doing a rather good job. Granted, he had no idea what a rally usually looked like, but everything seemed to be running like it was supposed to.

Things had been slow at the voter registration table that afternoon. Jehan had managed to finish his homework (several poems by Wilfred Owen) and Bahorel had managed to do all of his readings for his law classes (Jehan had insisted that he do some of his work) before they ran out of things to do. At that point, Bahorel suggested that they just talk, since there really wasn’t much else to do by then. 

They had talked about how Jehan was double majoring in English and Creative Writing and minoring in communications and how his parents were still trying to force him to become a chemist or a doctor because that would earn more money. At the moment, he was working part-time at a pet store, which was handy because Jehan had not one, but two betta fish (Jehan assured him that they were kept in different tanks), but he was trying to find work at a newspaper company or a radio station so he could get experience working in his career field. 

“I guess you can imagine how that worked out,” Bahorel sighed as he twisted the cap off his bottle of Coke.

“That’s a shame, though,” Jehan said. 

“Yeah, it kind of sucks, but I’ll make more money as a lawyer,” Bahorel said before taking a sip of Coke.

“If you ever go to classes, you mean,” Jehan was well aware of how Bahorel tended to skip his law classes.

“Courf forces me to go to the ones we have together,” Bahorel went on.

“But that’s no way to pass your bar exam,” Jehan said. “Won’t your parents be angry if you don’t pass?”

“They’ll get over it,” Bahorel said with a wave of his hand before leaning back in his chair and saying, “Dammit, there’s nothing to do.”

“Are rallies normally this slow?” Jehan asked, absentmindedly clicking and unclicking a pen.

“They are when you’re in charge of voter registration,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why Enjolras doesn’t put me on crowd control. He knows I can hold my own in a fight.”

“From what Courfeyrac told me, you get in fights more than you should,” Jehan said.

“That’s just Courf’s opinion,” Bahorel said. “I’m fine.”

“Not from what he says,” Jehan commented. “He told me this morning that you once got into a fight because a barista messed up your tea.”

“Remind me to never let you talk to Courfeyrac again,” Bahorel said.

“So do you have any plans for after this?” Jehan asked as he set the pen down on the table.

“Not really,” Bahorel shook his head. “Feuilly and I are meant to be hanging out if he doesn’t have to work after the rally. It’s been ages since we’ve hung out properly and we miss each other’s company.”

“Sounds like you guys are close,” Jehan said. 

“Apart from my flat-mates, I’m closer to Feuilly than anyone in this political thing,” Bahorel nodded. “But what about you? Do you have any plans or are you just winging it tonight?”

“Some of my workmates and I like to go to a karaoke bar sometimes,” Jehan answered. “I think we’re planning on going tonight.” 

“That could be fun,” Bahorel said. “You any good?”

“Probably not,” Jehan shook his head, lowering his voice as the music playing over the speakers decreased in volume. 

“Oh, I bet you’re not that bad,” Bahorel said teasingly. 

“I usually just do the same song each time I go. Sometimes I do others, but I normally sing just the one,” Jehan said. “I’m not very creative.”

“And that song would be?” Bahorel asked.

“’Slide’ by the Goo-Goo Dolls,” Jehan responded.

“Ah, that’s a good one,” Bahorel nodded.

“Yeah, my ex-boyfriend used to really like it,” Jehan glanced cautiously at Bahorel, trying to see how he would react to such information. He was completely surprised when Bahorel acted like there was nothing to it.

“I see, I see.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Jehan frowned.

“What, that your ex-boyfriend likes the Goo-Goo Dolls?” Bahorel arched an eyebrow.

“No, that I even have an ex-boyfriend,” Jehan responded. “You know, as opposed to an ex-girlfriend.”

“Dude, I don’t give a fuck about that,” Bahorel shook his head. “That would be kind of hypocritical coming from me.”

“So you too?” Jehan’s eyes met Bahorel’s and he was glad that he at least figured out that particular aspect of Bahorel’s life.

“I’ve just been serious with the one, but yeah,” Bahorel nodded. “It didn’t work out.”

“That’s too bad,” Jehan said. “Were you together very long?”

“Almost a year and a half,” Bahorel nodded. “Then he decided that he wanted to fuck some chick instead.”

“That’s awful,” Jehan looked genuinely concerned. 

“I got over it,” Bahorel shook his head. “My flat-mates helped me out. Feuilly heard more about it than anyone, but I got through it.”

“That’s good,” Jehan nodded. “It’s always a good idea to have friends support you through hard times.”

“Yeah, the lot of us have certainly had some hard times to deal with,” Bahorel said. 

“How’s Courf holding up, anyway?” Jehan asked.

“What do you mean?” Bahorel wasn’t sure if Jehan knew of Courfeyrac’s dilemma with his now ex-boyfriend.

“Well, he was telling me that his boyfriend cheated on him with a girl and broke up with him,” Apparently Jehan did know.

“How’d you find that out?” Bahorel certainly hadn’t said anything about the matter, knowing that Courfeyrac would rather have this kept to the members of his apartment.

“He told me himself,” Jehan was clicking and unclicking pens again. “Is he holding up okay?”

“As well as he can, I guess. Courfeyrac doesn’t like to focus on things like this,” Bahorel explained. “I know the rally has been distracting him, but I don’t know what will happen when it’s over.”

“Hopefully he doesn’t go on a rebound,” Jehan said. “I know from experience that that’s not fun.”

“He doesn’t, but he might be trying to get with someone else,” Bahorel stretched his arms out in front of him in a bored fashion.

“Yeah, Combeferre, right?” Jehan asked. 

“I didn’t think he’d say anything about it,” Bahorel looked surprised.

“I’m not meant to tell ‘Ferre, obviously, but I think it’ll work,” Jehan nodded. “If they ever decide to make a go of it.” He ran his fingers through his hair and continued. “It’s been a while since Combeferre’s been with anyone and I think he’s starting to get a little lonely.”

“Well, I know Courfeyrac wouldn’t do anything to hurt Combeferre,” Bahorel could see how close Jehan and Combeferre were. “He’s a very loyal friend.” 

“That’s good to know,” Jehan said with a nod. “Courfeyrac said the same thing about you.”

“Is there anything Courf didn’t tell you?” Bahorel asked, turning his chair in the direction of Jehan as he tried to figure out if Courfeyrac said more than he should. 

“Actually, he didn’t tell me much about you at all. He said he’d let me find things out for myself,” Jehan responded. “Which is good because I like discovering things about people, especially ones I’m meeting for the first time.”

“This isn’t our first meeting,” Bahorel felt obligated to say. “It’s just among the first times that we’re speaking face to face.”

“True,” Jehan was now scanning the crowds in front of them to see if there was any action out in the mass of people. “How long is this meant to last, anyway?”

“Until about eight or so,” Bahorel said with a yawn.

Jehan pulled out his cell phone and checked the time.

“That’s five hours from now.”

“Exactly,” Bahorel didn’t sound pleased about this as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “But R is going to bring some Starbucks and Mexican food by later.”

“How do you know that?” Jehan asked.

“Because he just texted me asking what we want,” Bahorel showed Jehan the text message.

“Oh,” Jehan said as his eyes scanned the message before handing the phone back to Bahorel. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“We do this all the time. We take turns,” Bahorel said. “Last time, Feuilly and I went out and got a bunch of Turkish food.”

“I didn’t even know we had a place for Turkish food,” Jehan said to himself. 

“Here, tell R what you want,” Bahorel slid the phone back to Jehan. “He’ll bring it by later.”

“Sounds good with me,” Jehan nodded, picking up the phone. “I haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“We never do when there’s a rally,” Bahorel said. “When there’s a political event going on and you live with Enjolras, you skip quite a lot of meals.”

-

“I can’t believe we’d never actually met before yesterday. It seems strange considering how involved we are with the group, isn’t it?”

Courfeyrac had to remind himself not to stare at Combeferre too long as the two walked around the rally grounds making sure everything was in proper order. This was proving to be difficult, as Bossuet and Enjolras kept moving around, refusing to sit still longer than five minutes at any given place.

So far, they hadn’t had much difficulty with their duties. Just a few fights to break up (Courfeyrac was relieved to find that Bahorel wasn’t involved in any of them). In fact, Courfeyrac was beginning to think that it was one of the calmer rallies he had attended. There wasn’t a whole lot of unscheduled action going on and everyone in the crowds looked interested in the subjects presented to them without getting out of hand. 

Maybe Courfeyrac hadn’t been paying too much attention to the crowds, though. He found that his mind kept wandering to many different places. Part of him was still thinking about Mathieu and the fact that he’d cheated on him with a girl, which was about the lowest and most insulting thing a man could do, in Courfeyrac’s opinion. Another part of him was thinking about the man walking beside him and trying to ignore those gorgeous eyes that were hidden behind dark glasses (almost like the ones Enjolras wore when he forgot to wear his contacts). He knew that trying to be in a new relationship while he was still getting over a breakup was a bad idea. It would end up causing more problems than it should and he’d be a lot more hurt than if he hadn’t done anything at all.

Yet there was something about Combeferre that just drew him in. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, or the way he presented himself or the fact that Courfeyrac could actually have an intelligent conversation with him. He’d be lying if he said that Combeferre wasn’t attractive or that looks didn’t play into anything. Courfeyrac kept getting butterflies in his stomach every time their eyes met and it was driving him crazy.

“Yeah, I was wondering why I’d never really seen you before,” Courfeyrac had to think about what Combeferre had said for a few seconds before he responded. 

“But at least we’ve met now,” Combeferre nodded, moving a little closer to Courfeyrac so he wouldn’t run head first into a lamp post.

“I agree,” Courfeyrac nodded as well. 

“I didn’t think the rallies were this calm?” Combeferre frowned, eyes surveying the scenes before him. “Enjolras always made it seem like chaos was ensuing all the time.”

“Enjolras has a tendency to over exaggerate,” Courfeyrac explained, putting his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “Trust me. I live with the guy.”

“That sounds pretty frustrating.” Combeferre glanced towards Courfeyrac.

“It’s not so bad when you get used to it,” Courfeyrac shrugged. “Ever since Bahorel moved in, he’s been a bit calmer. Just a little bit.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Combeferre asked.

“Because every time Enjolras gets particularly vocal or just loud in general, Bahorel starts bass drumming excessively,” Courfeyrac explained with a grin, remembering several instances where Enjolras threatened to throw Bahorel’s drum kit out of the window because Bahorel was drumming so loudly that the walls started to shake.

“That explains why I hear drumming so much from your apartment,” Combeferre noted. 

“I can tell him to shut up if it bothers you,” Courfeyrac offered, knowing how loud Bahorel tended to be when he was drumming. 

“It doesn’t bother me, but Joly gets annoyed,” Combeferre shook his head. “But don’t say anything because Joly’s just annoying to be around in general.”

“If he’s anything at home like is in the meetings, than I can see why,” Courfeyrac said. “He was talking about how he stares at his tongue in the mirror a lot at home.”

“For at least two hours a day,” Combeferre nodded. “Really, it’s annoying. I don’t know how all of us haven’t gone nuts already.”

“I agree,” Courfeyrac said.

“Well, should we head back, then?” Combeferre stopped walking and looked around at the scene before him, suddenly realizing that they’d walked a lot farther than they had intended to. “Things will be clearing up soon, huh?”

“Probably, yeah,” Courfeyrac pulled out his phone to check the time and realized that he had a message from Mathieu. He must have stared at the text notification longer than he realized because when he shoved his phone back in his pocket, he found Combeferre staring at him in a very perplexed manner. “Just a text. Nothing important.”

“From your ex?” 

Courfeyrac stared at Combeferre in confusion. How in the world did he know about Mathieu? He certainly hadn’t mentioned anything to him and he didn’t think any of his friends would, either.

“Bahorel told me,” Apparently he’d been wrong.

“I see,” Courfeyrac said slowly.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t go into detail. He said that was your business to tell, not his,” Combeferre assured him, sensing that Courfeyrac was upset by this.

“What did he tell you, then?” Courfeyrac asked.

“He just said that if you’re acting strangely, that it’s because you’re going through a rough breakup,” Combeferre replied. “That’s all he said about it, I swear.”

“Oh, okay,” Courfeyrac nodded. 

“Bahorel did mention that you’re not normally this emo. He told me that you’re usually one of the more cheerful ones of our group,” Combeferre went on. “You’re just going through a lot right now and that you’re more distracted than you normally are.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” Courfeyrac hadn’t quite noticed how withdrawn he’d been in the last day or so. 

“But seriously, are you doing okay?” Combeferre asked. “I don’t want to push you to talk or anything. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I guess I’m holding up okay. The rally has distracted me and that helps, but I don’t know what will happen when it ends,” Courfeyrac admitted. 

“Well, I’m all ears if you need it,” Combeferre offered. 

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac said as the two split up temporarily to let a large group of teenagers pass between them. “I might need to talk to Bahorel about this. He’s been through the same thing.” 

“Well, as long as you talk to someone about it when you need to,” Combeferre said, stopping momentarily to let some cyclists pass them. “I’ve been there and it’s not fun.”

“Breakups are never easy, are they?” Courfeyrac sighed.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Combeferre shook his head. “One of my exes threatened to take me to court because he claimed that I had some of his things that I wasn’t returning.”

“How’d that work out?” Courfeyrac asked, taking special notice of Combeferre’s use of pronouns.

“He ended up finding his stuff in his car a few days later,” Combeferre said as they started to walk forward again. “It was just a hassle, you know? It was getting to the point where he was calling Joly and Bossuet to get them to make me give his stuff back even though I didn’t have it.”

“Maybe you should’ve called the cops on him or something,” Courfeyrac said.

“In hindsight, I probably should have,” Combeferre said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But it doesn’t matter now. He’s out of the picture and it’s a bit of a relief.”

-

It didn’t take Grantaire long to find Jehan and Bahorel. All he had to do was follow the loud music to it’s source, since Enjolras had decided that the best place for one of the voter registration booths was right next to the gargantuan speaker system.

He knew that there probably wouldn’t be many people at their station, if there were people there at all. Despite this, it didn’t look like they were completely bored. It seemed like Jehan had brought a mancala set and was teaching Bahorel how to play. They looked like they were having a lot of fun, despite the fact that Bahorel seemed to be losing quite badly.

“Having fun, are we?” Grantaire had to laugh at the two.

“What the fuck took so long, R?” Bahorel asked, facing the cynic. “We’ve been waiting for ages.”

“Man, you know how long the lines at Chipotle are,” Grantaire said, handing each of them their food. “And I sort of didn’t get the coffee because the place was closed.”

“I didn’t know Starbucks closed in the middle of the afternoon,” Jehan said, taking his salad out of the bag.

“They’re renovating, apparently,” Grantaire pulled up a chair next to Bahorel and sat down. “So has it been busy today?”

“Not that busy,” Bahorel said. “Feuilly’s been texting me and he said that he’s been getting most of the people.”

“At least they’re going somewhere,” Grantaire turned his bag upside-down and dumped the contents out onto the table. “Enjolras won’t be complaining as much, then.”

“Seriously, Jehan?” Bahorel was staring at Bahorel, who was munching away at his salad. “Who gets a salad from Chipotle?”

“I happen to like the salads,” Jehan said. “And it’s better for you than the burritos.”

“But the burritos taste better,” Bahorel said as he unwrapped his. “Hey R, you remembered the corn on it, right?”

“I’ve been to Chipotle with you enough times to know what you like on your burrito,” Grantaire said through a mouthful of food. “So Bahorel’s losing at mancala, I see.”

“I’ve never played it before,” Bahorel said defensively. “I don’t know why he had it with him to begin with.”

“I had it in my bag for some particular reason,” Jehan said, sounding like he couldn’t remember the reason. “I just never took it out.”

“And it’s a good way to pass the time,” Bahorel shrugged before taking a bite of his burrito.

“Good point,” Grantaire nodded. “I wish we could bring those to the meetings. It gets as dull as fuck sometimes.”

“You can say that again,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I wish Courf would just throw something at Enjolras so he’d shut up.”

“Maybe I can convince Bossuet to bring his marshmallow gun next week,” Jehan said. “That would liven things up.”

“Okay, but only if we can bring our Nerf guns,” Grantaire gestured towards Bahorel and himself.”

“Deal,” Jehan nodded. “And I’ll bring mine, too.”

“Man, if this actually happens, you know Enjolras is going to be pissed,” Bahorel said. 

“Ah, you guys could stay over at my place until he cools down,” Jehan offered. “Unless you know some secret way to get him to chill out, Grantaire?”

“Just leave him the fuck alone, basically,” Grantaire said through a mouthful of burrito. “That’s about the only thing that works.”

“Sounds annoying,” Jehan said. 

“You have no idea,” Bahorel shook his head.

“Hey, ‘Rel, you don’t have band practice after this, do you?” Grantaire asked, glancing at Bahorel.

“What have I said about you calling me that?” Bahorel shot a glare towards the cynic. “And no, we called it off for the night.”

“Band practice?” Jehan frowned. “I’m assuming this isn’t an orchestral thing.”

“Nah, more like a metal thing,” Bahorel grinned. “But we’re really not any good.”

“Yeah, Bahorel and the bassist are really the only decent ones there,” Grantaire shrugged. “No offense meant.”

“Dude, you don’t have to tell me that,” Bahorel said. “I know Remy and Noel are awful.” 

“So why don’t you get new people?” Jehan asked. 

“Because it’s Noel’s band,” Bahorel sighed. “We’ve been trying to get Feuilly to do some violin work for a few of our songs, but he won’t do anything with it.”

“Probably because he’s too busy to do it?” Grantaire offered.

“Nah, it’s because he and Remy are always going at it,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. “Which is more annoying than it sounds. Trust me.”

-

As strange as it was to be in Feuilly’s apartment, Bahorel had to admit that it felt good to be out of his own place and socializing with his friend. He’d forgotten how spacious and open the place felt. Despite the fact that Feuilly frequently asked him if he wanted to move in with him, Bahorel always turned down the offer. Feuilly’s place was a bit out of the way for him and he enjoyed living with his current roommates.

“It feels nice to be back here,” Bahorel said as Feuilly pulled out some beer from the fridge and handed one to Bahorel. “I haven’t visited in a while.”

“Well, we’re both pretty busy,” Feuilly shrugged as he popped the tab of his beer and headed back to the living room. “You’ve got your law school to pretending to avoid and I’ve got work.”

“Hey, I’m actually avoiding it,” Bahorel sat down on the couch across from the TV. 

“Not from what I hear,” Feuilly said, throwing himself down in front of the recliner. “Courf said that Jehan’s making you go to class now.”

“Not all the time,” Bahorel said. “Just more than I did before. And how the fuck does Courf know about that, anyway?”

“He said that you were actually going to class more and he thought Jehan might be behind it,” Feuilly said, leaning back in the recliner. “Is that not the case?”

“No, it is,” Bahorel shook his head. “I just wish Courfeyrac wouldn’t say stuff like that.”

“From what he’s been saying, you two are getting pretty close,” Feuilly said, eyes on Bahorel to see how the other man would respond. “You talked about him all the time and that’s before you met at the meeting last night.”

“We’re not as close as we are,” Bahorel said. “I don’t think we’ll ever be as close as you and I are with each other.”

“Or how we were,” Feuilly said, sounding distant.

“I almost positive that ‘ll never happen,” Bahorel drank some of his beer and rested the can on his knee. 

“It might,” Feuilly said mysteriously.

“What’s that meant to mean?” Bahorel frowned.

“Look, I’m just saying that you haven’t really been close with anyone since Axel left you,” Feuilly explained. “Or with anyone, in general.”

“Now you know that’s not true,” Bahorel’s eyes were on Feuilly now. 

“What we had was nice for a time, but we both know that it wouldn’t work out. That’s why we called it off, remember?” Feuilly said. “I just don’t want to see you end up as some recluse who never leaves his flat.”

“But I do leave my flat,” Bahorel pointed out.

“You know what I mean,” Feuilly said firmly. “I know you’re not a people person, but I’d hate to see you ignore something that could be really good for you.”

“There’s just one problem,” Bahorel said.

“What would that be?” Feuilly inquired.

“I’d actually have to have feelings for Jehan first,” Bahorel stated. “That’s not the case.”

“Maybe that’s true for the present time, but you never know about the future,” Feuilly said. 

“Besides, Jehan and I are pretty good friends considering that we haven’t known each other very long,” Bahorel said. “Even if I did have feelings for him, which I don’t, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that.” 

“Hey, it’s your call, man,” Feuilly said in a tone that suggested that the conversation was growing to a close. “You do what you think is best.”


	6. Set-Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is going to be a bit shorter than the last one mainly because I came to what felt like a natural stopping point for this.

It was a rare day when Grantaire woke up before Enjolras. The blond normally woke up well before everyone else was awake and sometimes before the sun was even out. When he didn’t have classes, Grantaire often rolled out of bed around noon. This was normally because Bahorel started bass drumming loudly or Courfeyrac walked in and started jumping on the bed, something that annoyed Enjolras to no end. 

This morning, however, proved to be a different story. Grantaire was wide-awake at ten in the morning and Enjolras was still asleep. As much as Grantaire wanted to get a photo of his boyfriend sleeping, he knew that Enjolras would be angry with this. 

It took Grantaire a few moments to get out of bed, as Enjolras had managed to wrap himself around Grantaire’s body. Once he got out of bed, he pulled on a pair of pajama pants, fed Shae (she was still asleep in her cage, but she’d see the food when she woke up), and stepped into the hallway to use the bathroom. When he reached the bathroom across the hall, however, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar and the light was on. Grantaire had thought that he was the only one awake, since both Bahorel and Courfeyrac’s doors were still shut, but this clearly was not the case.

Gently opening the door, Grantaire found Bahorel lying on the blue tile floor, resting his head on one of Courfeyrac’s old coffee mugs. It took Grantaire a moment to tell that Bahorel was even alive. At a first glance, Bahorel did not seem to be moving, but soon Grantaire noticed his chest rising and falling with each breath that he took.

“Um, what are you doing?” Grantaire asked curiously. 

“I slept on my piercing wrong, so I’m soaking it in sea salt and warm water,  
Bahorel explained, remaining where he was on the bathroom floor.

“So that’s why you have that sea salt on the counter,” Grantaire moved towards the sink and reached for his toothbrush. “Does it feel better, at least?”

“Oh lots,” Bahorel sat up and shook his head like a wet dog, sending water flying everywhere. After flipping his hair out of his eyes, he said, “But why are you up? I usually have to break out the drumsticks to get you out of bed before noon.”

“I dunno, actually,” Grantaire said as he squeezed toothpaste on his toothbrush. “What about you?”

“Same,” Bahorel gently dried his ear with his towel. “Plus, I heard Courfeyrac on his phone.”

“Who was he talking to?” Grantaire managed to say through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I’m pretty sure it was Combeferre,” Bahorel responded. 

“What were they talking about?” Grantaire asked after he spit the toothpaste out into the sink.

“Nothing much, actually,” Bahorel said. “I’m just glad to see that he’s moving past Mathieu.”

“If it isn’t too soon,” Grantaire said with a hint of worry in his voice.

The bathroom door creaked open and Courfeyrac poked his head into the room. He looked back and forth between Grantaire and Bahorel and was wondering if something was transpiring that he shouldn’t know about.

“Nothing’s going on, Courf,” Grantaire seemed to sense what was going on in Courfeyrac’s mind.

“What are you doing awake?” Bahorel asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Combeferre called me to see how things were going here after the rally,” Courfeyrac said, opening the door so he could properly talk to the other two. “I told him about how Enjolras often sleeps until three in the afternoon after a rally, so it would be pretty calm until then.”

“Which is good for the rest of us,” Grantaire nodded.

“So how did it go with Feuilly last night, Bahorel?” Courfeyrac asked Bahorel, who was dragging a comb through his Mohawk, which he hadn’t bothered to spike. “I didn’t know if we were to expect you home this morning or not.”

“Feuilly and I are not hooking up again, Courf,” Bahorel said through gritted teeth. 

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Clearly it didn’t or we’d still be together,” Grantaire could tell that Bahorel didn’t want to talk about this, but Courfeyrac was oblivious as usual.

“I still think-”

“Look, Feuilly and I are not fucking getting back together,” Bahorel snapped, slamming his hand down on the counter so hard that Grantaire had to wonder if he’d broken any bones. “I don’t know why I fucking told the lot of you about Feuilly and I in the first place.” He glared daggers at Courfeyrac and said, “Especially you.”

With that, he inched past Courfeyrac and left the bathroom, pulling the door behind him with a slam.

“Why do you keep bothering him about that?” Grantaire sighed.

“Because I don’t understand why they didn’t stay together,” Courfeyrac reached for a can of hairspray from the cabinet behind the mirror. 

“Because they both felt that it wasn’t working out, obviously,” Grantaire said. “Feuilly said that things were pretty dead between them and they wanted to be friends instead.”

“I don’t know about you, but-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence because I know what you’re going to say and that’s his business, not ours,” Grantaire said.

“But you know that he hasn’t been the same since Axel left,” Courfeyrac said. “What if getting back in the game helps?”

“You know how Bahorel is with these things. He’s more shy than he likes to let on when it comes to dating,” Grantaire sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “When Bahorel is ready to actually go out with someone, he’ll let us know and we’ll be there for him when he is, won’t we?”

“Yes, but-” Courfeyrac tried to say.

“Courfeyrac…” Grantaire said warily.

“This is different! I’m not trying to set him up with a guy who might not be interested in him,” Courfeyrac said. “I’m trying to set him up with someone who is.”

-

Combeferre knew that he and Jehan Prouvaire were the only ones in their apartment. Joly and Bossuet were with Musichetta for the afternoon, which meant that they got to have the apartment to themselves for a change. Jehan was taking advantage of this and staring out of the kitchen window, gazing up at the clouds.

“What are you thinking about, Prouvaire?” Combeferre knew Jehan well enough to know that he always thought about things when he was watching the clouds.

“That I might be in love,” Jehan said slowly, as if he was still thinking about it.

“Is that so?” Combeferre asked. “And who might this be?”

“You know who it is,” Jehan said, still looking at the clouds outside the window.

“Is this a certain someone whom you’ve only physically met two days ago?” Combeferre knew that he would be right. 

“As if it could be anyone else,” Jehan nodded with a sort of hopeless sigh.

“Well, I’m happy for you, Jehan,” Combeferre smiled. “So are you going to tell him?”

“I’m not sure,” Jehan shook his head. 

“This isn’t about your eyes, is it?” Combeferre asked, sensing that’s what was holding the poet back.

“How do I know that he won’t think differently of me because of it?” Jehan finally met Combeferre’s gaze and the latter could see how genuinely worried he was. 

“Because I don’t think Bahorel would really care about something like that,” Combeferre moved towards Jehan and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“So you say,” Jehan said grimly.

“I really don’t think a guy with ear and facial piercings is going to care much about your eyes, Jehan,” Combeferre said. “Which I’ve got to say, I’m surprised that you’d go for someone with a lip piercing. Not your usual type at all.”

“Well, it’s not like I planned any of this,” Jehan said, moving away from Combeferre and grabbed his cup of iced tea from the counter before taking a drink. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” He turned back to Combeferre. “I’m afraid of what he’ll say if I show him, but I don’t want to lie to him, either.”

“That’s a choice you’re going to have to make, Prouvaire,” Combeferre said. “You have to decide if Bahorel is worth the risk or not.”

“I think he is,” Jehan nodded. “Each time I talk to him, I feel more and more that he’s worth it.”

“Well, you might get your chance tonight if you’re up for it,” Combeferre said. “Courfeyrac just texted me and asked if we wanted to go hang out at their apartment tonight.”

“That could be fun,” Jehan nodded. 

“It’s your decision, Jehan,” Combeferre said. “You can tell him, or you can let this pass by.”

-

Courfeyrac was accustomed to Bahorel drumming when he was angry. He’d done that ever since he moved into the apartment all those years ago. It was why he was hesitant to knock on Bahorel’s door when the latter was drumming a violent metal song. 

The drumming stopped and Courfeyrac could hear footsteps before the door swung open and Bahorel stood in front of him, looking quite annoyed.

“Yes?” 

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier,” Courfeyrac said. “I know you don’t like talking about you and Feuilly and I shouldn’t have pushed it.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Bahorel walked back to his drum set.

“I do have a question for you, actually.” Courfeyrac slowly walked into the room.

“Courfeyrac…” Bahorel knew exactly where this was heading.

“I swear, he actually really wants to meet you,” Courfeyrac said quickly, for fear of never being able to defend himself. “He’s really into that German metal that you like and he says he’s seen you around Musain, but never got up the courage to actually talk to you.”

“So how do you know this guy, then?” Bahorel spun around in the swivel chair in front of the drums.

“He’s in one of my classes,” Courfeyrac explained. “He said that he saw us at the rally, but didn’t have time to stop by and say hi.”

“Does this mystery guy have a name?” Bahorel arched an eyebrow.

“Aiden,” Courfeyrac nodded. “He seems like a really nice guy, so why don’t you at least give it a shot? You already know the guy’s interested.”

“That’s not my problem, Courf,” Bahorel sighed. “And I know you know what my problem is. 

“Look, here’s his number,” Courfeyrac handed Bahorel a slip of paper. “Just think about it, okay?”

Having said his piece, Courfeyrac left the room, closing the door behind him. After staring at the number for a few moments, Bahorel pulled out his phone and punched the numbers in, his thumb hovering over the send button.

Was this really a good idea? None of the guys Courfeyrac tried to set him up with ever worked. Especially after the date with the Chinese pirate with a glass eye and a peg leg (Bahorel was still trying to figure that one out). Still, Courfeyrac had never tried to set him up with a guy like this before. Maybe it was worth a try, at the very least. With this thought in mind, before he could think about it anymore, Bahorel hit the send key and held the phone to his ear as he listened to the dial tone.


	7. Interaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had been planning on working on this chapter for weeks when I read Right Foot Blue by nataliaa and realized that I wasn't the only one who thought of this. However, their story is for E/R and is very different from mine, but I highly recommend reading it. It's a good laugh. Additionally, I've made a playlist of songs for this fic. You can listen on 8Tracks by typing in Meeting Through The Window and it should come up. My username is the same as on here, if that helps. I'm constantly adding songs to it as I come out with chapter, so expect updates with that soon. Enjoy the chapter!

Bahorel almost didn’t hear the knocking at his door because he was drumming so loudly. He’d become accustomed to having little to no interruptions when he was in his room behind the drum set, so he was surprised when Courfeyrac opened the door and poked his head into the room.

“What’s up, Courf?” Bahorel asked, twirling one of the drumsticks between his fingers.

“Prouvaire’s here,” Courfeyrac informed him.

“But not the rest of his flat-mates?” Bahorel frowned.

“He said there was something that he wanted to talk to you about before they got here,” Courfeyrac said before disappearing down the hallway. 

Bahorel tossed the drumsticks on his bed and followed Courfeyrac down the hall and into the living room where he found Jehan Prouvaire staring at Winston in the betta tank. For some reason, it seemed like Jehan was anxious about something, but Bahorel had no idea what that would be. He seemed tense and rigid, like one who was keeping a secret from someone else. On the other hand, as soon as Jehan saw Bahorel, his stance changed and he seemed a little more relaxed, if only just a little bit.

“What’s up, Jehan?” Bahorel asked, wondering why he was at their apartment so much earlier than the rest of his flat-mates.

“Is this Winston?” Jehan gestured towards Winston, who was swimming in and out of his little barrel. 

“Yep, that’s him,” Bahorel nodded. “Weird little fucker that he is.”

“Meaning?” Jehan arched an eyebrow.

“Meaning Winston is the strangest fish I’ve ever seen,” Courfeyrac said, joining the other two in the living room. “He just randomly jumps out of the water and swims in circles so fast that he has to get dizzy.” 

“Plus, he has a habit of detaching the thermometer from the side and moving it around the tank,” Bahorel rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s a bit strange,” Jehan nodded. 

“But what’s up?” Bahorel asked. “Courf said you needed to talk to me about something?”

“Yeah, I need to show you something,” Jehan said. “Is your room okay to go to?”

“It’s fine with me,” Bahorel would be lying if he said that he wasn’t perplexed about Jehan’s actions, but he lead the other man down the hall and into his bedroom.

“You know, it’s a lot bigger than what I saw from my room,” Prouvaire commented as he gazed around the room.

“Well, you only got the one view,” Bahorel added as he closed the door behind him. “So what’s up?” 

“I just wanted to show you this,” Jehan nodded, pulling a small round plastic case from his pocket.

“That little thing?” Bahorel wasn’t sure where Jehan was going with this.

“No, I’m talking about this,” Jehan twisted open the case and in one swift movement, raised his hand to his face and gently touched his left eye before bringing his hand back down again. 

“I get it,” Bahorel said slowly. “Two different eye colours.”

“Yep,” Jehan nodded and Bahorel noticed how nervous he seemed to be. “One green and one blue.”

“So why were you wearing contacts, then?” Bahorel asked. “Do you wear them all the time?”

“Just when I go out, normally,” Jehan slipped the lens into the plastic case and slid it back in his pocket. 

“But wait, I’ve seen you in your window when we were talking and you were wearing them then,” Bahorel pointed out.

“The first time was a coincidence. I’d been running around all day and hadn’t bothered to take them out,” Jehan explained. “But after that first meeting, I wore them at night all the time just in case I talked to you again.”

“Why would you do that?” Bahorel was still confused.

“Because it’s not something I particularly like about myself,” Jehan had his arms behind his back and he could feel his face growing hot. “And I didn’t know what you’d say about it. I used to get picked on a lot because of it when I was younger and I didn’t know if I should show you or not.”

“But you did,” Bahorel noted. 

“And I’m waiting to see what you have to say about it,” Jehan said nervously. 

“I like it,” Bahorel gave him a smile. “It suits you.”

“You think so?” Jehan was surprised by this, but he felt relieved at the same time.

“Definitely,” Bahorel nodded. “Plus, it’s a lot cooler than my eyes.”

“I like your eyes,” Jehan was positive that he was blushing like crazy, but Bahorel didn’t say anything about it.

“Brown is a boring colour and you know it,” Bahorel said. “Now come on. Let’s go back to the living room before Courfeyrac starts getting suspicious.”

“He seems like the type,” Jehan said. “Oh! Before I forget, I have a question for you.”

“I’ve got an answer,” Bahorel said. “Hopefully.” 

“A few of my coworkers were going to go bowling tomorrow afternoon and I wanted to see if you wanted to go,” Jehan asked, trying not to appear as nervous as he felt.

“As much as I’d like to, I can’t,” Bahorel shook his head. “I’ve got a show tomorrow night and, as strange as it sounds, a date at lunch.”

“Oh yeah?” Jehan tried to appear interested as he and Bahorel left the room.

“Yeah, Courfeyrac kind of set us up,” Bahorel said. 

“That sounds like something he’d do,” Jehan said as they reached the living room and found Courfeyrac still staring at Winston in the tank.

“What am I doing now?” Courfeyrac didn’t bother looking at the other two.

“Setting me up with Aiden,” Bahorel said, throwing himself down on the couch. 

“Oh yeah, that was all me,” Courfeyrac grinned. 

“And you’re more than welcome to come to the show if you want, Jehan,” Bahorel said, glancing towards Prouvaire, who was sitting in Courfeyrac’s armchair.

“Where is it?” Jehan asked. 

“Well, we’re meant to play at nine at the Twister,” Bahorel said. “But tomorrow’s cover night, so we’re doing all cover songs.”

“Any that I’d know?” Jehan asked, spinning around in the armchair.

“Not unless you listen to metal music,” Bahorel shook his head. “Hey, Courf, when is everyone else getting here?” 

“In a few minutes,” Jehan replied for the other man. “Joly’s trying to figure out if Bossuet is feeling well enough to come over.”

“Is he sick?” Courfeyrac asked, glancing at Prouvaire. 

“He has a pretty bad migraine, “ Jehan shook his head. “It looks like he’ll be sitting this one out.”

“That’s a shame,” Bahorel said with a frown.

Jehan had opened his mouth to respond when the front door opened and Combeferre, Eponine, Marius, Joly, Enjolras, and Grantaire stepped into the room. Grantaire had obviously just returned from one of his art classes, as he was covered from head to toe with paints in varying colours. Everyone else save for Enjolras looked eager to play Twister. Not that this was a surprise to anyone. Everyone present knew that Enjolras preferred reading to playing party games.

“It’s about time!” Courfeyrac jumped up and darted to his bedroom for the Twister mat. 

“So no Bossuet, then?” Jehan asked Joly as everyone made themselves at home. 

“No, he was going to sleep,” Joly shook his head. 

“You look different, Jehan,” Eponine said, her eyes looking Jehan up and down as if he were standing in a police line-up. “Did you change your hair or something?” 

“Not recently?” Jehan frowned, ducking past Grantaire as the latter retreated to his bedroom for some clothes that weren’t flecked with paint.

“Oh, I get it,” Combeferre said to himself.

“Oi, ‘Rel!” Courfeyrac called from his bedroom.

“What now?” Bahorel shouted back.

“I found a bunch of your stuff for Winston in my room,” Courfeyrac called back. “Want to get it out of here?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Bahorel walked briskly over to Courfeyrac’s bedroom.

“So you showed him, huh?” Combeferre turned towards Jehan.

“Showed him what?” Marius jumped into the conversation.

“You hadn’t noticed that my eyes are two completely different colours?” Jehan asked.

“Well, I do now!” Marius exclaimed. “Do you wear contacts normally?”

“Yeah,” Jehan nodded.

“And what did he say about it?” Combeferre asked.

“What did who say about it?” Eponine asked.

“Bahorel,” Jehan told her before turning back to Combeferre and saying, “He said that he like it.”

“See?” Combeferre smiled. “I told you he would.”

“Wait, were you nervous about telling him?” Eponine cocked her head to the side in confusion as Marius grew bored with the conversation and left to join Joly and Enjolras in moving the furniture to make way for the Twister mat. “Am I missing something?”

“Jehan has a thing for Bahorel and he was afraid of telling him,” Combeferre explained.

“Wait, you do?” Eponine looked like she’d stumbled on the biggest news story of the year.

“Way to tell her, ‘Ferre,” Jehan rolled his eyes.

“Don’t kid yourself, love,” Eponine assured him. “We’ve known about it for a while. We just didn’t expect you to say anything about it.”

“But did you ask him out?” Combeferre asked.

“He said he has a date tomorrow,” Jehan shook his head sadly.

“Maybe it won’t go well?” Eponine darted out of the way as Joly and Marius brought over the coffee table.

“We found it!” Courfeyrac and Bahorel returned, Courfeyrac carrying the Twister mat and Bahorel carrying what looked like bottles of water purifier and decorative plants.

“Hey Bahorel, is Feuilly coming by?” Enjolras asked, turning to face Bahorel from where he stood by the TV.

“He said he’d be here late, but I just got a text from him saying that he was on the way,” Bahorel set the fish supplies on top of the tank. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to let Bahorel and Feuilly play Twister at the same time?” Marius asked the group at large. “Remember what happened last time we did this?”

“We were going out then,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. “I’m not about to do that this time.”

“Wait, what?” Jehan looked alarmed by this new information.

“Let’s just say that things got a little physical,” Combeferre shook his head.

“By physical, he means that Feuilly’s tongue somehow ‘accidentally’ ended up down Bahorel’s throat,” Eponine told Jehan, putting air quotes around the word with her fingers. 

“Neither of us said it was an accident,” Bahorel grinned in response.

“Fucking gross,” Courfeyrac stuck out his tongue in disgust. 

“He never told me about that,” Jehan said to himself.

“And I didn’t spike the Mohawk this time, either, Joly,” Bahorel called back to Joly, who’d moved to the kitchen to make some tea.

“Good!” came Joly’s response.

“Joly got poked by one of the spikes and fell, taking Cosette, Musichetta and Enjolras down with him.

“So who’s on spinner duty?” Marius asked as the door opened again and Feuilly walked in, throwing his bag down with the pile of shoes near the coat racks.

“Not me!” he exclaimed as he joined the group.

“Good of you to come,” Enjolras said with a nod.

“You guys know I never miss out on Twister nights,” Feuilly said with a grin. “So I think-”

“I call spinner!” Joly exclaimed as he came into the room carrying a mug of hot tea.

“I love how you just make yourself tea at our place,” Grantaire rolled his eyes as he walked back into the room, now wearing clean clothes. 

“What took you so long?” Bahorel arched an eyebrow at Grantaire, who was now helping Courfeyrac unfold the mat on the floor.

“I was feeding Shae and letting her out for some exercise,” Grantaire responded. “I didn’t think Eponine would want her running around like last time.”

“Having a hedgehog out in general when Twister is being played is a horrible idea,” Feuilly said.

“So are we finally ready?” Bahorel asked as he jumped up and down in place.

“Excited?” Enjolras glanced towards Bahorel.

“I haven’t played Twister in ages,” Bahorel responded. “The last time I played was with the band-mates and they’re no fun to play with at all.”

“I bet Remy ruined that one,” Courfeyrac said with a grimace. “Well, everyone, take your places.”

It took a few minutes for everyone to get situated. Naturally, it was going to be difficult to get nine people situated onto one mat, so Enjolras volunteered to sit out the first round so there would be enough room on the mat without everyone falling out by the end of the first turn.

“Left hand yellow,” Joly called out the first hand and everyone scrambled for a spot.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, Feuilly,” Bahorel glanced towards the other man, who had his hand smashed on top of Bahorel’s.

“Yeah, let’s not have a repeat of last time,” Combeferre said.

“We were going out then!” Bahorel and Feuilly shouted at the same time.

“I think we get it,” Marius said from where he stood between Grantaire and Eponine.

“Right foot blue,” Joly spun the spinner and called out another combination.

It took a few seconds for everyone to get situated. Grantaire had to twist himself so that he wasn’t running over Combeferre, Courfeyrac had his arm thrown up in the air so he wouldn’t lose balance, Jehan Prouvaire was leaning on Feuilly and Eponine was dangerously close to stepping on Combeferre’s foot with her free foot.

“Right hand green.”

There were a few yelps of surprise as Courfeyrac and Feuilly clashed, but they both remained standing. Eponine had to flip over Jehan Prouvaire and Bahorel and Grantaire both fought for the same colour space before Bahorel relented and moved to another one.

“Having trouble, Combeferre?” from where he was, Marius thought he saw Combeferre struggling to move.

“My glasses keep trying to fall off,” Combeferre said.

“Joly, come get ‘Ferre’s glasses before we break them,” Eponine called to the man sitting comfortably on the couch.

“Got it,” Joly was over in minutes and gently removed Combeferre’s glasses before retreating to the safety of the couch.

“Better?” Marius asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Combeferre nodded.

“Are you sure you can see?” Jehan twitched his leg slightly to make sure it wasn’t going numb.

“I’m not that blind, Prouvaire,” Combeferre rolled his eyes.

“Right foot red,” Joly called.

“God dammit!” cried Eponine as she fell to the floor, almost taking Jehan Prouvaire and Feuilly with her.

“Way to go, ‘Ponine,” Bahorel smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” Eponine carefully crawled off the mat so as to not trip the other players.

“Left hand green.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre were now sharing the same colour space and Feuilly and Bahorel had their legs twisted together, looking like they were a vine climbing up a tree. Marius found himself staring at Grantaire’s shoulder blade as the artist moved in front of him to avoid falling on Feuilly.

“Right hand yellow.”

There were some whimpers of pain from Grantaire and Courfeyrac, who’d both found themselves in compromising positions when Combeferre moved to the colour tile. Feuilly and Bahorel were face to face with each other, both sharing a yellow circle, and Jehan Prouvaire was barely standing, his arms shaking violently.

“No funny business, you two,” Joly said to Bahorel and Feuilly, who were talking amongst themselves and giggling.

“Do we even have to say it?” Feuilly said while Bahorel simply looked annoyed.

“We’d be yelling at Grantaire if Enjolras was playing,” Combeferre assured them.

“Right foot green,” Joly called out.

Courfeyrac’s foot slipped, sending him crashing to the ground with a colourful string of swears. Marius took advantage of this to grab the colour spot and moved away from Grantaire, who looked like he would be the next one down.

“Left hand yellow.”

And it wasn’t long before Grantaire went tumbling to the ground, taking Combeferre with him.

“Couldn’t leave me in, could you?” Combeferre stood up and took his glasses from Enjolras, who was reading a complicated looking book next to Joly.

“Of course not,” Grantaire grinned.

Feuilly moved over to the side and Jehan moved his arms closer together, which made it easier to hold himself up. He looked up and found himself staring at Bahorel’s back, as the latter had to twist himself around to land on the proper space.

“Next colour, Joly?” he asked. “I don’t know how much more Marius can hold out over here.”

“Yeah,” Marius sounded quite miserable, as he had limbs on each square of the mat.

“Left foot blue.”

Feuilly reached for the space with his foot, but fell short and crashed to the bottom. Bahorel almost went down with him, since their legs were still wrapped together, but he managed to hold his own and moved over to straighten himself out and found himself staring at Jehan Prouvaire.

“Why hello,” he grinned. 

“Got yourself out of that one,” Jehan nodded, hoping Bahorel couldn’t hear his heart racing.

“Stop making lovey eyes at each other and move,” Eponine said from the sidelines. 

“We could if Joly would call a fucking colour,” Bahorel retorted.

“And we’re not making lovey eyes,” Jehan said in response. 

“Left foot green,” Joly called out.

“Mother fucker,” Marius sounded relieved as he straightened out just a little bit. 

Jehan and Bahorel had a bit of trouble getting around Marius and Bahorel ended up having to flip over Jehan so that he was lying right on top of him.

“Better now?” Bahorel had to laugh at the situation.

“Right hand blue,” Joly called.

Jehan had almost reached the blue space when he fell, taking Bahorel with him. 

“Mother of fuck,” Bahorel winced in pain, as his leg had somehow ended up underneath Jehan. 

“Sorry,” Jehan scooted off Bahorel quickly and shook his arm to make sure he still had feeling in it.

“Seriously?” Courfeyrac sounded surprised from where he sat in his armchair. “Pontmercy won that round?” 

“Apparently,” Marius said from the mat, where he was standing up to a more comfortable position. 

“Man, that’s fucking lame,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. 

“So who wants another round?” Joly asked.

“Let’s give everyone a chance to get the feeling back in their limbs,” Grantaire said. “Bahorel and Jehan looked like they were having problems standing up for a while there.”

“Well, his arm was hooked around mine,” Bahorel retorted. “What else was I meant to do?” 

While the rest of their friends were talking about a second round and Marius’ victory (which was apparently uncommon), Jehan was thinking of other things. He found himself watching Feuilly and Bahorel talking to each other. Bahorel had never mentioned that he’d been in a relationship with Feuilly before and he had to wonder if there was a reason for this. Clearly it had ended some time ago, but as he watched the two of them, Jehan had to wonder if all of those past feelings that they felt for each other were gone.


	8. Concert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know this took longer than I expected to get out. Work's been busy.

“Bahorel, the betta tank is leaking on the floor! And you’re going to be late for that date of yours if you don’t hurry up!”

Enjolras heard Bahorel shout something that sounded suspiciously like “God fucking dammit,” as the latter jumped out of bed. Walking back into the kitchen, Enjolras returned to the table where he commenced reading his notes for one of his philosophy classes. He was quite famished, but he knew that it was Grantaire’s turn for breakfast, so he figured he’d wait a little longer to see when his boyfriend would get out of bed.

As it turned out, Enjolras wasn’t kept waiting for very long. Grantaire stumbled into the room a few moments later dressed only in stripped pajama pants and looking very tired.

“We weren’t up that late last night,” Enjolras said as Grantaire headed straight for the cup of coffee Enjolras had already poured for him. 

“No, but it’s still too early to be up on a Sunday,” Grantaire slowly moved over to the table and sat down across from Enjolras.

“Is Bahorel awake?” Enjolras asked. 

“Yeah, he just darted into the living room to put Winston in a cup until he can find time to get a new tank,” Grantaire nodded. “He hasn’t had a day this busy in a while.”

“At least Courfeyrac won’t be complaining about him not dating for a while,” Enjolras sipped on his coffee, eyes on his notes.

“I just hope it goes well,” Grantaire said over the sounds of Bahorel cleaning up the spilt fish water. “But you know…”

“What?” Enjolras frowned and looked up at the artist.

“Don’t go telling him I said this, but I kind of wish he’d realize how he feels about Prouvaire,” Grantaire said.

“R, you know how he hates it when-” Enjolras started to say as he heard Bahorel race past the kitchen and into his bedroom again.

“But that’s why I’m not trying to force him like Courf keeps trying to do,” Grantaire said. “I think he has some serious feelings for him but he hasn’t realized it yet.”

“Well, that’s for him to decide,” Enjolras said. “Want to start making lunch?”

“Oh right, it’s my turn for that,” Grantaire stood up and rummaged through the cupboards as he tried to find something to make. “Were you still going to his show tonight?”

“I can’t,” Enjolras shook his head. “I got a text from work about closing because three guys called out. I should be off by the time you get back, though.”

“That’s a shame,” Grantaire frowned, pulling a box of pasta from the cupboard near the microwave. “I know Courf was thinking of asking Combeferre to go.”

“They’re getting close, aren’t they?” Enjolras said, tapping his pen on the table. 

“And Combeferre isn’t an ass like most of Courfeyrac’s exes, so it might work out this time,” Grantaire nodded.

At that particular moment, Bahorel slid into the kitchen (he hadn’t bothered to put his shoes on yet and was still wearing his socks) and made for the fridge for a bottle of Coke. Grantaire and Enjolras were both surprised by Bahorel’s general appearance. Instead of wearing his usual band shirt and cargo pants, he was sporting some bondage pants and his favourite Lovecraftian shirt. 

“You look different,” Grantaire said slowly, looking Bahorel up and down.

“How do you mean?” Bahorel asked as he twisted open the soda top and took a drink.

“One, you didn’t spike the Mohawk,” Enjolras said. 

“I figured that I do it for every date I go on, so I thought I’d try not spiking it for once,” Bahorel shrugged.

“And you’re not wearing a band shirt?” Grantaire asked.

“Need to do laundry,” Bahorel responded. “But I’ll do that and buy a new fish tank tomorrow since classes are canceled.”

“Are you coming back before the show tonight?” Grantaire asked.

“Mason has my concert drums in his van and I’ve got the drumsticks in my car, so I’m good,” Bahorel said. “But I need to get going if I’m meeting Aiden on time.”

“Good luck,” Enjolras said with a wave as Bahorel darted out of the kitchen.

Once Bahorel left the apartment, it only took him a few minutes to reach the Musain, where he and Aiden agreed to meet. After he arrived at the cafe, it didn’t take him long to find Aiden. After all, he told him exactly where he would be: at one of the outside tables near the entrance. Bahorel took a few minutes to look around, but found a man around his age reading something on his phone, looking more studious than anyone else in the area.

“That’s him,” Bahorel said to himself.

He walked over to the table, avoiding running into one of the baristas on the way, and found himself in front of the man in no time at all. When he was closer to the man, he took the time to notice his features, the red curls on top of his head, the bright green eyes, the way his face was covered with freckles and most importantly, the fact that he was reading one of his favourite Lovecraft stories on his phone.

“Aiden?” Bahorel asked hesitantly.

The man looked up and Bahorel knew he’d found the right guy. 

“That’s the name I told Courfeyrac to give you,” the man responded with a smile. 

“But that’s not your real name?” Bahorel frowned.

“It’s a nickname,” Aiden said, gesturing for Bahorel to sit down. “I’m not overly fond of my real name.”

“May I ask what it is?” Bahorel asked. “If it doesn’t bother you, that is?”

Aiden glanced toward the ground and said, “Miles. Miles Davenport.”

“That’s a nice name, though,” Bahorel pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. “Better than mine. But what would you like me to call you?”

“Honestly, not many people even call me Aiden anymore,” Aiden shrugged. “Call me whatever you like.”

“I can work with that,” Bahorel leaned back in his chair, eyes on the man in front of him. “So, you want to start up a conversation or should I?”

-

Combeferre was accustomed to coming home from work and finding Jehan mulling over poetry or one of his books. This time seemed a bit different. It was obvious that he’d just returned from his own job, as he was still in uniform, but there was something strange about the way he was staring out the window.

“I thought you were going bowling with your coworkers today?” Combeferre asked, throwing his keys in the communal key bowl Joly had set out on the coffee table.

Jehan didn’t bother looking at Combeferre when he responded and continued staring out the window.

“Sally and Jane couldn’t make it and we had the lanes booked in their name. They wouldn’t let us in otherwise.”

“That sucks,” Combeferre frowned. “But what’s up? You look upset about something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Bahorel and Feuilly?” Jehan asked.

“What, that? I thought Bahorel might have told you,” Combeferre sat down on the couch. 

“No, he didn’t say anything about it,” Jehan shook his head.

“Well, it happened a while ago. One of those spur of the moment things, I guess,” Combeferre said. “They’ve always been close, so I guess it was only a matter of time before it happened.”

“Did they actually sleep with each other or…” Jehan trailed off at the end of the sentence. 

“It was pretty much a whole ‘friends with benefits’ situation, from what I know,” Combeferre said. “I only heard about it at meetings, but from what Joly and Bossuet told me, that’s pretty much all there was to it.” 

“I see,” Jehan said slowly.

“But why bring that up?” Combeferre asked.

“It’s just that there was a bit of a connection yesterday at Bahorel’s place,” Jehan said. 

“Well, if it bothers you, talk to him about it,” Combeferre suggested.

“And say what? That I have feelings for him?” Jehan rolled his eyes. “I think we all know that I’m not the type of guy he’d go for.”

“You never know until you ask him, Prouvaire,” Combeferre shrugged. “You still going to his show tonight? Maybe you could say something after that.”

“Planning on it, yeah,” Jehan nodded. “And that’s not going to happen.”

“I still think you should say something,” Combeferre stood and headed for the kitchen. “You’ll feel a lot better if you do.”

-

“So is this boyfriend of yours coming tonight or what, ‘Rel?” 

Bahorel continued twirling his drumstick in the air as he paced around the backstage area while the band waited for their set to start. Everyone was tense, which wasn’t uncommon before a show. Noel was starting to annoy Remy, who was trying to do some form of meditation, which he always claimed calmed him down before a performance. Mason, on the other hand had noticed Bahorel sitting in his usual corner of the room and decided to make conversation.

“Which boyfriend would this be, Mason?” Bahorel ignored the use of his dreaded nickname.

“That guy you met in your window,” Mason brushed his dark hair from his eyes. “Jacque, was it?”

“Jehan. Jehan Prouvaire,” Bahorel corrected him, still twirling the drumstick between his fingers. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“You talk about him an awful lot,” Mason said, as if this made any difference. 

“That doesn’t make him my boyfriend,” Bahorel shook his head. “And I didn’t think you liked me being gay, anyway?”

“I don’t, but I’m not like Remy and going to hate you about it,” Mason jerked his head in the direction of the singer, who was trying to ignore the peanuts that Noel was throwing at him. “If it makes you happy and doesn’t involve you hurting yourself or others, how can it be bad for you? Even if I don’t personally agree with it?”

“Well, I’m glad you, at least, don’t yell at me about it,” Bahorel said. 

“You aren’t having your usual pre-show cigarette?” Mason frowned, noticing that Bahorel didn’t have a cigarette in his mouth like he normally did before a concert.

“Trying to quit,” Bahorel shook his head. “I’m still flicking lighters like crazy when I’m alone, though.”

“Would this have anything to do with window boy?” Mason asked, carefully watching Bahorel’s reaction. 

Bahorel stared at Mason.

“Have you been talking to Courfeyrac?”

“No, that was Grantaire, actually.”

“Oh, I see,” Bahorel nodded. “And I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’re trying to stop smoking because of this Prouvaire?” Mason cocked his head to the side. 

“I just woke up one day last week and thought I should stop smoking,” Bahorel didn’t mean to sound as harsh as he did. 

“Okay, okay. I’m not trying to make you feel cornered,” Mason held up his hands in self-defense. 

“No, that was my fault,” Bahorel shook his head. “I didn’t mean to sound that angry.”

“But seriously, Bahorel, I’m glad you’re meeting new people,” Mason said. “I know it can be hard.” 

-

It took Jehan a few minutes for him to find Courfeyrac in the sea of people at the venue. Jehan had grown accustomed to crowds and poetry readings, but he hadn’t been to a concert in a long time. Once he was in the crowd, however, memories of previous concerts rushed to the front of his memory. The smell of beer and sweat mixed with traces of marijuana and stale cigarette smoke was very distinctive. Bahorel had once told him that he loved the smell of concert venues more than anything and Jehan had to wonder why that was. It didn’t smell particularly lovely to him, but perhaps Bahorel saw something different in it. 

Jehan found Courfeyrac first, sitting over at the bar with a can of beer in hand, absentmindedly staring at the counter. He didn’t even notice when Jehan tapped him on the shoulder.

“What’s on your mind, Courf?” Jehan asked, taking a seat next to the man.

“Just thinking,” Courfeyrac nodded.

“About what?” Jehan asked.

“Well, Combeferre just asked me if I wanted to go get coffee tomorrow,” Courfeyrac said, looking quite happy. 

“Like a date?” Jehan asked.

“Apparently,” Courfeyrac nodded again.

“Well, good for you,” Jehan smiled. 

“Did he tell you he was going to say something?” Courfeyrac asked suspiciously.

“Combeferre rarely ever talks about his romantic interests,” Jehan shook his head. “But really, I hope it works out for you.”

“Me too,” Courfeyrac nodded. “Oh! Before I forget, do you want to come back to our place and watch a movie after the show tonight?”

“Say what?” Jehan couldn’t hear quite what Courfeyrac was saying because the man sitting next to him decided to throw his beer bottle at the wall, causing quite a loud crash.

“Grantaire was saying that he wanted to have a Disney marathon tonight and everyone at my place was game,” Courfeyrac explained. “Combeferre’s coming, so I didn’t know if you’d want to come, too.”

“Sounds great,” Jehan nodded. 

At that moment, Combeferre showed up, looking less than happy with something. He had his phone out and kept glancing at it every few minutes.

“What’s up?” Courfeyrac asked.

“I just got a text from my boss,” Combeferre said. “They need me at the shop tonight because Hannah and Rochelle called out sick and Samuel had a family emergency and can’t make it.”

“Lame,” Courfeyrac said. “Will you be able to make it to the Disney thing?”

“Maybe for the last half of it,” Combeferre said with a grimace. “But I just got a text from Cosette saying that she and Pontmercy are here somewhere, so you two won’t be alone if you find them.”

“Oh, okay,” Courfeyrac said. “And of course you get the text right before ‘Rel’s band comes on.”

“I know, right?” Combeferre rolled his eyes. “But at any rate, I’ll see you for coffee tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Courfeyrac smiled. “I look forward to it.”

“Same,” Combeferre nodded before he turned back to Jehan. “I’ll see you at the house tonight.”

“Stay safe,” Jehan told him as Combeferre walked off.

“Who’d have thought that a book job would be so busy this late at night?” Courfeyrac shrugged as the lights in the venue went down. “Ah! It’s about time!”

“No introduction?” Jehan assumed that this meant that the next band was coming on.

“Remy insists that they don’t do regular introductions, but announce that they’re coming on with the light thing,” Courfeyrac finished his beer in one swallow and headed out to the floor with Jehan following behind him. “He’s a bit of a drama queen.”

“Why doesn’t Bahorel just leave if this guy’s such a pain?” Jehan asked.

“He and Mason, the bassist, are thinking of starting their own thing,” Courfeyrac said. “They’re tired of putting up with Remy and Noel and it honestly might be a good thing for them.”

At that moment, a loud whine from a guitar sounded and Jehan noticed for the first time that all of the band members were on the stage. Courfeyrac took a few seconds to point out who everyone was and what their role was in the band.

“And I’m pretty sure you know who the drummer is by now,” Courfeyrac grinned deviously.

“Shut up,” Jehan stuck his tongue out at Courfeyrac. 

“Do you even like metal?” Courfeyrac asked. “The only reason why we go is because he goes to Grantaire’s art functions and Feuilly’s violin recitals and stuff like that.”

“I mean, we’re friends,” Jehan said. “Isn’t that what friends do?”

“Even thought you want to be more than friends, right?” Courfeyrac nudged him playfully.

Jehan was spared from answering by a series of violent drumrolls, soon followed by the whine of a guitar. Courfeyrac had mentioned that Bahorel liked the loud and aggressive songs, but he never figured that it would be quite like this. 

“Ah, they’re starting with this one, huh?” Jehan could barely hear Courfeyrac over the din in the room.

“Does that mean something?” Jehan shouted.

“This is Bahorel’s favourite,” Courfeyrac yelled in response. “Which means that Mason’s favourite is next.”

And he was right. The song transitioned into the next, which wasn’t as violent as the first. Instead, this one featured more bass, which Mason clearly enjoyed as he was jumping up and down in place.

“I can see he likes it,” Jehan shouted to Courfeyrac over the noise.

“I wonder if they’re going to rope Bahorel into it this time,” Courfeyrac said.

“What do you mean?” Jehan didn’t understand him.

“Give it a minute,” Courfeyrac shouted in response.

For the second time that night, Courfeyrac was correct. About a minute into the song, the tempo slowed slightly and a new voice could be heard shouting, one Jehan knew well.

“Is that ‘Rel?” Jehan shouted in confusion.

“Sometimes Remy doesn’t feel like doing all of the vocals, so he forces Bahorel and Noel to do some of it,” Courfeyrac explained. “Bahorel’s the only one who can do the metal scream, so it’s usually him.”

“That’s got to be frustrating.”

Jehan’s eyes were on Bahorel again. He’d never seen him look so energetic and excited before. He didn’t know how often he’d get to see Bahorel like that, but he could easily get used to it.

-

“So are we doing ‘The Lion King’ first or are we starting with ‘Mulan’ so Grantaire will be happy?”

Bahorel could barely stay awake while Courfeyrac, Jehan and Enjolras were going through the Disney movies on the coffee table. After all, he’d had to move his drum set a total of eight different times in the course of the night, which was tiring enough on a good day. Given the fact that they’d played a show as well, Bahorel figured that he was allowed to be tired.

“Wake up, Bahorel,” Jehan threw a pillow at his face.

“Dude, I’m exhausted,” Bahorel curled up in a ball at the foot of the couch. 

“You guys did well tonight,” Courfeyrac said.

“Did Remy throw a bitch fit like he normally does?” Enjolras asked.

“Not this time, surprisingly,” Bahorel said in response. 

“Why didn’t you spike your Mohawk tonight?” Courfeyrac asked Bahorel. “I think tonight’s the first show you’ve had where you didn’t spike it.”

“Oh, I just didn’t feel like doing it,” Bahorel said, eyes darting towards Jehan.

“I see,” Courfeyrac said nothing, though he had to wonder if Jehan had an influence on Bahorel’s decision. 

“So what are we starting with?” Grantaire asked as he returned to the room from the kitchen carrying several bottles of alcohol in his arms.

“How about ‘Frozen’?” Jehan suggested. 

“We don’t have that one,” Enjolras shook his head.

“I can run back to my place and grab it,” Jehan said. “Unless Bahorel never returned it?” he said, glancing towards Bahorel on the couch.

“In my room in the desk drawer,” Bahorel waved his arm aimlessly, clearly too tired to do anything.

“Lazy,” Jehan said playfully as he headed towards Bahorel’s room.

“So how did it go with Aiden?” Courfeyrac asked Bahorel.

“Apparently he wants me to call him Miles,” Bahorel turned over so that he was lying on his back. “But I dunno how it’s going to work.”

“Did it not go well?” Grantaire asked, sitting down in Courfeyrac’s chair.

“It did, but I’m not sure either of us really want to do it again, if that makes any sense,” Bahorel tried to explain. “I think just being friends might be best for us.”

“Whatever works, man,” Courfeyrac said, drinking some of the beer that Grantaire brought out. “I’m just glad that you gave it a shot.”

“Feuilly’s got a theory about that,” Bahorel said.

“You talked to him about it before us?” Courfeyrac looked slightly offended.

“He said that the reason it didn’t go well with Miles is because I secretly want to be with Prouvaire, even though I don’t have those kinds of feelings for him,” Bahorel shook his head.

“Dude, you totally do,” Grantaire gave Bahorel a skeptical look. “Even Enjolras admits it.”

“I do,” Enjolras had pulled out his book and was starting to read. 

“But I’m telling you I don’t,” Bahorel said.

“You just might not see it yet,” Courfeyrac said. 

Bahorel opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again when Jehan walked into the living room and tossed the DVD to Courfeyrac, who was sitting next to the DVD player.

“It was under your bed, dude,” Jehan told Bahorel as he picked up the smaller man’s feet and sat down on the couch next to him.

“My couch!” Bahorel exclaimed.

“Oh, please,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes.

“No, it actually is his couch,” Enjolras said. “He brought it when he moved in.”

“Let’s just start the movie,” Jehan said as Courfeyrac put the movie in the DVD player and scooted back to the loveseat over by the kitchen.

Everyone had already seen the movie before, which made it easier for Bahorel to slip in and out of a nap. Grantaire had a tendency to yell at him if he was watching a movie for the first time and not paying attention, but he’d seen it a few times, so he knew Grantaire wouldn’t scold him.

“I think we’re all a bit sleepy,” Grantaire yawned an hour into the movie.

“Look at ‘Rel and Prouvaire,” Courfeyrac nodded in their direction. Bahorel was still curled up in a ball, but this time he was sitting up halfway. Jehan had fallen asleep and was now sleeping with his head on Bahorel’s side. In his sleep, Bahorel had shifted so that his body was curled around Prouvaire protectively and they greatly resembled kittens sleeping together instead of two men trying to share a couch.

“Oh my god, that’s precious,” Grantaire shook his head at the scene before him, though he was smiling in amusement.

“And he says that he’s not attracted to him,” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “He isn’t on a conscious level, I’ll give him that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs from the concert are both from Asking Alexandria: the first is "A Lesson Never Learned" and the second is "To The Stage".


	9. Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized that I've had this finished for almost a week and I haven't posted it yet. I feel like such a horrible writer.

“Bahorel! Wake the fuck up and help me figure out what to wear!”

Bahorel hadn’t even opened his eyes before he recognized the voice jolting him from sleep as Courfeyrac’s. He’d only been asleep for a few short hours since everyone left their flat around three in the morning and he had decided to play some video games until around six and considering that it was around eleven in the morning, Bahorel felt that he had a right to feel tired.

“What’s wrong with asking Enj or R?” Bahorel groaned as he rolled over onto his back.

“Because they’re both at work right now and you’re the only one here,” Courfeyrac shouted from his bedroom. “Now get out of bed and help me.”

Rolling his eyes, Bahorel got out of bed, wincing at how cold the wooden floor was, and left the room for Courfeyrac’s. He found the other man wearing only a pair of boxers and standing in front of his mirror, examining his reflection as he held up one of his shirts to his chest.

“Really, Courf?” Bahorel arched an eyebrow.

“I could say the same to you,” Courfeyrac eyed Bahorel, who was only in his black and red checkered pajama pants. 

“I literally just woke up,” Bahorel padded across the room and sat down on Courfeyrac’s bed. “So what is it?”

“I’m guessing you’ll say no to the skinny jeans?” Courfeyrac held up another shirt and stared at it intensely.

“Just wear whatever the fuck you want to wear,” Bahorel yawned. “I’m not the one going on a date.”

“You’re no help,” Courfeyrac scowled at Bahorel. “I always help you out when you’re going out with someone.”

“Note that I’ve never asked you to,” Bahorel pulled his knees up to his chest. “What about your dark blue jeans and pink and orange stripped polo?”

“The jeans need to be washed,” Courfeyrac walked over to his closet and picked out the shirt Bahorel had suggested. 

“Well, what about regular jeans, then?” Bahorel felt that Courfeyrac was making this far more complicated than it needed to be.

“Do you think that’s too casual?” Courfeyrac asked seriously.

“Courf, its just a coffee date,” Bahorel said. “You know what I wore on the coffee date I went to yesterday? Bondage pants and a t-shirt.”

“Yes, but my fashion sense is a bit different from yours,” Courfeyrac held up the shirt in front of the mirror to see how it looked. “Not that that really needs to be stated.”

“I’m just pointing out that it was fine,” Bahorel said. “Wear whatever the fuck you want. I don’t think ‘Ferre’s going to care about what you wear, you know.”

“You think so?” Courfeyrac turned his head back to Bahorel.

“Yes,” Bahorel nodded. “Seriously, it doesn’t matter what you wear to this thing. Its not like you’re going on a date with Joly.”

Courfeyrac looked at Bahorel with wide eyes and said, “That will never happen.”

“I agree,” Bahorel shuddered and got off the bed. “So you’re good?”

“Can I borrow some of your hairspray?” Courfeyrac asked as he stepped into some jeans.

“It won’t work with curls,” Bahorel said. “You can try it if you want, but I don’t think it’ll work.”

“Ah, okay,” Courfeyrac said. “I guess I’ll borrow some of R’s, then.”

“Good,” Bahorel said as he turned to leave.

“Hey, you know that you’ve got Winston in that cup on the coffee table, right?” Courfeyrac said as he pulled on the polo shirt.

“Yeah, the tank sprung a leak yesterday and I didn’t have time to go get a new one,” Bahorel said with a yawn.

“Prouvaire works at a pet shop, right?” Courfeyrac asked. “Why not see if he can help.”

“That might be a good idea,” Bahorel nodded. “I was thinking of upgrading anyway.”

Having said his piece, Bahorel walked back over to his room and pulled his phone from the charger on the wall by his bookcase of video games. After he unlocked the phone, he punched in Jehan’s number and waited for him to answer.

“Hey, Jehan? Got any plans this morning?”

-

Twenty minutes later, Jehan and Bahorel were in the latter’s car and heading to the pet store where Jehan worked. Jehan had been quite surprised when Bahorel called him, but he figured that he had nothing better to do, so he might as well tag along for the ride.

“So what happened?” Jehan asked curiously, wondering how in the world a tank could crack so easily.

“I have no idea,” Bahorel said as he pulled the car into the parking lot and into a space near the front. “Enjolras woke me up yesterday and said that the tank was leaking onto the floor and when I got to it, I saw there was a huge crack down the side.”

“Any idea what caused it?” Jehan asked, glancing towards Bahorel.

“No clue,” Bahorel shook his head as he turned off the car and pulled the key out of the ignition and looked at Jehan before saying, “Hey, I’ve just noticed something.”

“Yeah?” Jehan asked.

“You’re not wearing your contacts today,” Bahorel answered.

Jehan instantly turned away and got out of the car, hoping that Bahorel wouldn’t notice how pink his face had grown, and said, “Yeah, I figured that since you know about it, there was no sense wearing contacts anymore.”

“I still don’t see why you were anxious about showing me,” Bahorel said, getting out of the car as well, shutting and locking the doors behind him. “You seemed okay with showing the rest of my flatmates.”

“I’m not as close with them as I am with you,” Jehan said as he followed Bahorel to the pet shop. 

“That still doesn’t make sense, but okay,” Bahorel figured that Prouvaire wasn’t going to give him a straight answer and gave up trying. “I’m sorry to bring you here on your day off.”

“That’s okay,” Jehan responded as they stepped through the sliding doors. “We just got these new self-checkout things that are kind of handy. I can figure those out some more.”

“So which way is the fish stuff?” Bahorel asked, looking around the shop for any signs of supplies for aquatic pets.

“Over on the back wall,” Jehan took off in the proper direction.

It took about fifteen minutes to find the proper tank. Most of the ones on the shelves didn’t have lids, which wouldn’t work because Grantaire’s hedgehog frequently tried to climb into the betta tank. Once he found a tank, Bahorel remembered that he needed a few other supplies for the tank, which lead to more searching. After about half an hour in the store, Jehan and Bahorel were walking through the doors and heading back to Bahorel’s car.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Bahorel said as he loaded the tank and supplies into the trunk of his hatchback. “I’ve had bettas for about five years now, but I’m still a little lost when it comes to getting supplies.”

“It’s cool,” Jehan said with a nod, waiting for Bahorel to open the doors so he could get into the car. “I didn’t have anything really important to do today.”

“Did you want to swing by my place to hang out?” Bahorel said as he unlocked the car and he and Jehan clambered inside. “I got a new Danish movie a few days ago that I want to rewatch.” He put the key in the ignition and started up the car. “It’s got some really hoy guys in it, if that sweetens the deal for you.”

“I was going to say yes regardless, but that works,” Jehan grinned. 

“Excellent,” Bahorel smiled back as he reached into the glove compartment for his iPod. “You’re in charge of music for now.”

“What have you got on here?” Prouvaire asked as he took the iPod from Bahorel and began scanning through its contents.

“Just some metal stuff,” Bahorel grinned at Jehan before he turned around and backed out of the parking space. 

“I can’t even pronounce some of this,” Jehan said as he scrolled through some bands with names he didn’t recognize. 

They continued like this until they reached the apartment complex. Jehan was still going through Bahorel’s iPod while the latter was setting up the new aquarium. Bahorel kept glancing over at the poet to see if he had tired of it, but he was surprised to see that he was still sifting through its contents. 

“So I’ve got a question for you,” Jehan said, speaking for the first time in about ten minutes.

“What’s that?” Bahorel asked as he placed the decorative ornaments back in the tank.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your relationship with Feuilly?” Jehan’s eyes were on Bahorel.

Bahorel looked at Jehan. “Why bring that up?” 

“I mean, I just found out about it while we were playing Twister a few nights ago,” Jehan said. “It seemed that you two were kind of close then.”

“I didn’t think it made a difference,” Bahorel said. “It wasn’t anything serious. Just sort of us fucking around.”

“Literally?” Jehan arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Bahorel shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s pretty much all it was, so we just went back to being friends when we realized it wasn’t working out.”

“Ah,” Jehan said slowly.

“Does that bother you?” Bahorel asked as he dried his hands on his trousers. 

“No, its okay,” Jehan shook his head, handing the iPod to Bahorel. “Its your choice who you go out with.”

“Same to you,” Bahorel nodded. “Now what do you say we get this movie started?”

-

“So that had a more depressing ending than I expected.”

Bahorel looked over at Prouvaire, who was staring at the screen in front of them. All had gone well, save for the time when Shae darted into the room and decided to take a nap on Jehan’s lap. 

“It’s a movie about Denmark in World War II,” Bahorel stretched his arms in front of him. “Did you honestly expect it to have a happy ending?”

“No, but I wasn’t expecting to have the one guy bite on a cyanide capsule and the other one get shot by a firing squad,” Jehan tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Tired?” Bahorel noticed Jehan’s actions.

“Watching movies always makes me sleepy,” Jehan nodded. “Plus, we were up late last night, too.”

“Enjolras told me that we fell asleep during the movie last night, so at least we got that much more sleep,” Bahorel stood and walked over to the TV and took out the DVD from the Xbox.

“Last night was fun,” Jehan nodded. “Got any more shows coming up?”

“One on Wednesday night where I’m covering for the drummer for a pop group,” Bahorel shuddered at the thought. “And we’re doing covers night again next weekend.”

“Don’t you ever do your own songs?” Jehan asked.

“Mason and I have tried to convince Remy to let us, since Noel’s written some good stuff, but Remy’s too much of a diva to do it,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. “I’m going to strangle the guy, I swear.”

“That wouldn’t be good,” Jehan said as he followed Bahorel into the kitchen for something to drink. “You’d be out a vocalist.”

“Oh, by the way, Feuilly has one of his violin recitals tomorrow night,” Bahorel said as he opened the door and grabbed a bottle of Coke for each of them. “Did you want to come?”

“Yeah, he texted me about it the other day,” Jehan nodded, accepting the soda from Bahorel.

“How’d he get your number?” Bahorel frowned. “You haven’t been together all that much to get it.”

“Apparently he got it from Courfeyrac, who got it from you,” Jehan said simply.

Bahorel was confused as to why Feuilly would need Jehan’s number and wouldn’t ask for it from Jehan himself, but decided to ignore it. It wasn’t like he had a problem with, though he had to wonder why he was having to tell himself that in the first place.


	10. Taking Risks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this finished for so long and I have no idea why I didn't post it. 
> 
> Sadly, I'm afraid to say that this story is reaching its end. I'm anticipating about three or four more chapters before the end. Which is sad because I really enjoy it.

“Prouvaire, when are you meant to be meeting Feuilly?”

Jehan ducked his head outside his bedroom door to find Combeferre walking down the hallway with a mug of tea in his hand. He didn’t have to be at Feuilly’s recital until it started at four, but he knew that Feuilly wanted Jehan to be there earlier for one last reherseal.

“Around three-thirty, he said,” Jehan said, fingers fumbling to button up his shirt. “Do we know who’s going to be there?” 

“Just about everyone, I think,” Combeferre said, walking past Jehan and sat down on the bed, taking care to ignore the dress shirts and ties strewn across the bed. “Bossuet’s gone to pick up Musichetta now and Cosette’s going to be late, but she’s going to do her best to get there.”

“Oh, right, she’s got that lab that runs late,” Jehan said, holding up two different coloured ties and comparing them. 

Combeferre nodded and said, “By the way, how are you getting there? Is Bahorel taking you?”

“He doesn’t know I’m going,” Jehan shook his head. “I’m taking the bus there.”

“Wait, he doesn’t know?” Combeferre frowned before he took a sip of his tea. 

“I dunno, it just didn’t feel right for me to tell him,” Jehan shrugged. “Its hard to explain it.”

“You know, he’s going to miss you being there,” Combeferre told him.

“That brings me to something else I want to talk to you about,” Jehan decided on a cyan tie and threw it around his neck.

“And what might that be?” Combeferre asked curiously. 

“I was thinking of asking him out tonight,” Jehan said as he fiddled with the tie around his neck.

“Seriously?” Combeferre looked genuinely happy with this. “That’s excellent, Jehan.”

“Really?” Jehan seemed surprised with this.

“Of course it is,” Combeferre nodded. “So what’s the plan?”

“Well, I was going to see if he wanted to go out somewhere after the recital tonight,” Jehan said, finishing with his tie and moving on to his hair. “My coworker told me that it’s open mic night at the gay bar tonight.”

“Open mic night on a Tuesday?” Combeferre arched an eyebrow.

“Its weird, I know,” Jehan said. “Or we could go do something else. I’m really not all that picky.”

“I’m just glad to see you actually doing something about this,” Combeferre said with a smile. “What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? I just had a dream last night where everyone in his flat moved out and I never got the chance to say anything to him about it,” Jehan said as he dragged a comb through his hair. “I just don’t want that to happen, you know?”

“I certainly don’t want it to happen, either,” Combeferre said. “This could be a good thing for the both of you.”

“But I’m not sure what he’ll say,” Jehan turned to face Combeferre. “I mean, what if he says no? What if he doesn’t want it to-“

“Prouvaire, from the way I’ve seen him look at you, there’s no way he’d say no,” Combeferre assured him, gently placing his hand on Jehan’s shoulder. “Even if he doesn’t realize it himself.” 

“Wait, how has he been looking at me?” Jehan looked alarmed.

“Why don’t you try figuring that out for yourself?” Combeferre said gently. “And more importantly, isn’t it time you head off?” 

“Yeah, I’m just going to leave a note for him in the window,” Jehan moved over to his desk and pulled out a pad of paper, a Sharpie and a roll of tape.

“Still conversing through the window?” Combeferre frowned.

“We thought it would still be an affective way of communicating,” Jehan said, scribbling something down on the paper.

Combeferre shrugged and left the room without another word. A few seconds later, he taped the note to the window, making sure that Bahorel would be able to read it, and headed out of the room.

-

“Enjolras, what is wrong with wearing a tie? Even Grantaire and Bahorel are wearing them and you don’t hear them complaining.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes at Courfeyrac’s comment, knowing it was Courfeyrac who was standing in his doorway, glancing him up and down and deciding if his appearance was appropriate for Feuilly’s recital. He didn’t even want to go in the first place, but Grantaire had pointed out that Feuilly went to all of the rallies that he could when his job allowed it, so it would be a nice gesture if Enjolras went to this event for him.

“Grantaire and Bahorel are not me,” Enjolras said in response, turning back to the mirror and examining his reflection.

“My point is that you know how much they both hate ties and they’re wearing one tonight,” Courfeyrac crossed the room to Enjolras’ wardrobe and started to go through the ties. “Are any of your boyfriend’s in here?”

“Its my wardrobe, so no,” Enjolras shook his head.

“You might as well give up, Courf,” the men turned their heads as Grantaire walked into the room, adjusting his own tie with one hand and checking his hair with the other. “It’ll never happen. Unless Bahorel wants to hold him down and give it a shot?”

“I think I’ll pass,” called Bahorel from his bedroom, apparently having heard the conversation.

“Can you at least wear a jacket with it?” Courfeyrac asked, turning to Enjolras.

“That I can do,” Enjolras nodded. “Hand me the black one?”

“With that shirt?” Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow, comparing the colour of the jacket to the colour of the shirt Enjolras was wearing.

“Just give me the damn jacket, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras sighed testily. 

“Okay, okay,” Courfeyrac tossed Enjolras the jacket. 

“Bahorel, are you ready?” Grantaire called for Bahorel in his bedroom. 

Rather than speaking in response, Bahorel simply walked into the room, the arms crossed over his chest showing how uncomfortable he was wearing the dark red suit. He’d apparently found time to touch-up the red on his Mohawk so the spikes were even more vibrant than they had been earlier that day, even though he hadn’t spiked them.

“Well, don’t you look nice,” Courfeyrac said, walking around Bahorel in a circle. 

“As do you,” Bahorel said, noticing Courfeyrac’s dark blue suit.

“Are you ready?” Grantaire asked as the group moved out of Enjolras and Grantaire’s bedroom and into the hallway.

“Yep,” Bahorel nodded.

“So who’s this girl that Feuilly’s playing with tonight?” Enjolras asked, ducking past the other three so he could reach the living room first.

“His new girlfriend, apparently,” Grantaire shrugged.

“Say what?” Bahorel and Courfeyrac said at the same time, both looking startled by this new information.

“Yeah, they met for this recital thing because she needed a violinist and a pianist for the song she’s doing and apparently they hit it off,” Grantaire explained, leaning against the wall while Enjolras looked around for his phone and Bahorel for his car keys. “I thought she’d go for Prouvaire since they were practicing at the same time and he’s into that poetry stuff that girls seem to like.”

“Wait, Prouvaire?” Bahorel looked up from where he was searching under the couch and stared at Grantaire. 

“Yeah, he’s playing tonight, too,” Grantaire said. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he didn’t say a thing,” Bahorel slowly shook his head. 

“That’s good for Feuilly, though,” Enjolras emerged from the kitchen with his phone in hand. 

“Yeah, it is,” Bahorel nodded. 

“So are we ready to go or what?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Hang on, I think I left my phone in my room,” Bahorel said, heading for the direction of his bedroom.

“Of course you did,” Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Courf, we’ll be down by the car when he’s found it.”

“Hey, what do you mean ‘we’?” Enjolras demanded as Grantaire dragged him out of the apartment. 

Deciding that Bahorel was taking too long, Courfeyrac decided to see what was going on. He hadn’t even made it down the hallway when Bahorel emerged from his bedroom, looking confused. 

“Found it?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Yeah, it was on my bed,” Bahorel nodded.

“You okay?” Courfeyrac asked. “You look confused.”

“Jehan left a note on the window saying that he needs to ask me something tonight,” Bahorel said as the two walked down the hallway and into the living room.

“Did he say what it was?” Courfeyrac asked.

“No, he didn’t and I’m not sure what that’s meant to mean,” Bahorel shook his head. 

“You don’t have any ideas?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“None that I can think of,” Bahorel shook his head again. 

“Maybe he wants to ask you out?” Courfeyrac suggested as Bahorel scrambled around the living room searching for his car keys again. 

“Oh please,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. “Like he’d ever want to do that. I think we both know that I’m not his type.”

“I dunno about that,” Courfeyrac said as he looked around the betta tank for the keys. 

“Yeah, sure,” Bahorel was only half listening at this point.

“But seriously though,” Courfeyrac moved aside some betta pellets and water purifier. “If he asked you out, what would you say?” 

“I dunno, maybe?” Bahorel lifted up the couch cushions.

“Wait, really?” Courfeyrac was so startled by this that he dropped a carton of aquarium salts on the floor. “You’d really think about it?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been thinking some things lately, but I’m not sure why,” Bahorel was on his hands and knees looking under the couch. “Plus, how can I even know if it would be reciprocated?”

“Bahorel, I’m almost positive that he ‘d say yes if you asked him out,” Courfeyrac set the aquarium salts back on the table, watching Winston hiding in his decorative barrel. 

“I got ‘em,” Bahorel stood up, car keys in hand. “They were on the coffee table.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac nodded. “R and Enjolras are at the car, so let’s go.”

“Yeah,” Bahorel replied before he added, “And Courfeyrac?”

“Hmm?” Courfeyrac turned back to Bahorel.

“Don’t mention this to anyone else, okay?” Bahorel asked.

Courfeyrac nodded and said, “Got it.”

-

“Ready to go, Jehan?” 

Jehan had been looking over his sheet music for the song when he heard Margot approaching him from the stage area. She herself was carrying a portable music stand in one hand and an iPod and headphones in the other. Jehan assumed that she wasn’t used to wearing heels, as she looked a tad uneasy on her feet as she walked across the stage, but considering that she was wearing a floor-length dress for the occasion, heels were a necessity. 

“Yeah, just looking over things,” Jehan responded. “Where’s Feuilly? He said he was going to his car for something, but that was ten minutes ago.”

“He’s looking for his bow,” Margot rolled her eyes. “I swear, we haven’t known each other all that long, but I can already tell that he’s the type to misplace things easily.”

“I’m starting to realize that, too,” Jehan nodded. “Is that stand for you?”

“Yes, they want me to have sheet music, even though I memorized this song years ago,” Margot set the stand down on the floor. 

“I guess it never hurts to be careful,” Jehan shrugged. “Are we almost up?”

“Nicolette’s almost finished her flute thing, so yes,” Margot nodded. “I just really wish I knew where Feuilly was. The director’s going to be awfully upset if we’re late.”

“Don’t worry, I’m here,” Feuilly came dashing up to Margot and Jehan, his bow and violin in one hand and his book of sheet music in the other. 

“Was it in your car?” Jehan asked.

“No, Bellamy had it with his cello, for some reason,” Feuilly responded. “Is your keyboard up there already?”

“I just have to move it up,” Jehan nodded as the three moved away from the wall and got ready to head out to the stage. “I’m glad I brought it over earlier.”

“But how are you getting it home?” Margot asked, placing her iPod on a nearby chair. 

“Maybe Grantaire or Bahorel drove over?” Jehan shrugged. “I could put it in their car so I can take it back to the flat.”

Margot was going to respond, but was interrupted when a small girl with red braids came off the stage carrying a flute in one hand and a spiral notebook and pencil in the other. She looked very relieved as she walked past the other three and into the waiting area backstage.

“I guess Nicolette’s finished,” Feuilly said. “That means we’re next.”

“Good luck,” Jehan told them as they walked onto the stage as a group.

They made their way to their respective places, Jehan moving the keyboard and stool up to its proper spot and sitting down. He told himself not to look out at the crowd of people in front of him. As often as he went to poetry slams and open mic nights, he was still terrified of performing in public, especially when he knew that his friends were in the audience. 

Instead, he looked to Margot and Feuilly for their signals that they were ready for him to begin, as he was the one who was meant to start the song. He looked towards Feuilly, who gave him a short nod, and to Margot, who did the same. Taking a deep breath, Jehan placed his fingers on the keys and started playing.

It was an easy enough melody. Jehan had known the song long before Feuilly and Margot asked him to play for them. Even though he had practiced with them at least half a dozen times, he was still surprised to hear Margot’s voice instead of the voice he knew so well from the song. 

Jehan’s fingers moved swiftly across ivory as he heard Feuilly’s violin several seconds later. Moving from the first chorus to the second verse saw Jehan moving back to the first series of chords from the opening, though Feuilly was moving to some new notes. Jehan looked up for a few brief seconds to see that Margot was swaying back and forth to the music, eyes closed as she sang. He noticed that the fingers of her right hand were moving in a way that matched his own and he remembered her telling him that she played the piano as well. Much like Bahorel drummed out rhythms with pencils and Joly mimicked the fingerings for his clarinet with chopsticks, Margot imitated the notes that he was playing with her fingers against her leg.

Jehan had to play a little bit louder when they moved on to the second chorus just to match Feuilly and Margot and by the time they got to the final chorus, Jehan was practically pounding on the keys to make sure he was heard at all. As loud as it all was, he had to admit that it the combination of his keyboard with Feuilly’s violin sounded quite harmonious. By the end, the room was silent, save for the echoing chords from the keyboard.

-

“Just so you know, you did really well tonight,”

Jehan turned to face Combeferre, who was currently attempting to unlock the door to their apartment. Bossuet and Joly had told them that they were going to Musichetta’s for the night, so that meant that the two had the apartment to themselves for once. Jehan didn’t mind. It would be nice to not have to deal with Bossuet’s near-constant soap opera marathons and Joly’s waking up every two hours to stare at his tongue in the mirror.

“Oh, thanks,” Jehan managed to smile a little, which was quite a feat considering how exhausted he felt. 

“Long day?” Combeferre assumed as he succeeded in unlocking the door and the two stepped into the apartment.

“You can say that,” Jehan nodded, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket as he leaned his keyboard case he’d been carrying against the wall. “Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?” Combeferre asked, taking off his shoes and setting them on the floor near the coat closet.

“Just a text,” Jehan had pulled out his phone and was now using his thumb to enter the passcode.

It was a simple message from Bahorel that seemed to be a response to his earlier message on the window.

So what did you want to talk to me about?

“Ah, shit,” Jehan sighed.

“You okay?” Combeferre was starting to look worried.

“I completely forgot to talk to Bahorel,” Jehan explained.

“You mean you haven’t asked him out yet?” Combeferre arched an eyebrow. “How in the world did you manage to forget that?” 

“I got busy after the recital!” Jehan exclaimed. “Feuilly lost his violin, Marot needed help cleaning up the stage…”

“Okay, so why aren’t you talking to him now?” Combeferre was clearly trying to Jehan a little bit.

Jehan blinked and said, “I guess I could do that, couldn’t I?”

“Go before he starts to think something’s wrong,” Combeferre said, opening the door and pushing Jehan out of the apartment.

Jehan quickly walked down the corridor until he found himself at Bahorel’s apartment. He’d told him that he really didn’t need to knock, that he could just come in whenever because that’s what everyone else seemed to do, but he found himself knocking before entering anyway.

He wasn’t surprised with the sight that he found. Courfeyrac had turned on the Xbox and was playing a sort of action game without bothering to change into more comfortable clothes. Grantaire had slipped into some paint-covered jeans and a tank top and was drinking wine straight from the bottle as he watched Courfeyrac. Neither Bahorel nor Enjolras were in sight.

“What’s going on, Prouvaire?” Courfeyrac seemed to know that it was Jehan at the door despite the fact that he didn’t look away from the TV where he was slicing up some guards with a hidden blade.

“I need to talk to Bahorel,” Jehan said, his heart racing at the very thought of what he was about to do.

“In his room,” Grantaire gestured towards the hallway. “He shouldn’t mind if you go on in.”

“Thanks,” Jehan nodded and headed towards the hallway.

He stopped in front of Bahorel’s bedroom and took a deep breath, preparing himself and hoping that he didn’t appear as nervous as he felt. He had raised his hand and was about to knock on the door when the door suddenly swung open and Jehan found himself face to face with a very perplexed Bahorel. Jehan figured that he would be surprised. After all, he hadn’t exactly planned on coming over to his apartment unannounced.

“Hey there,” Bahorel said, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just what I had to talk to you about,” Jehan said, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice steady and not at all nervous sounding. 

“Have at it,” Bahorel leaned against the door, his fingers twisting one of his many earrings.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to go out for drinks tonight,” Jehan was hoping that Bahorel couldn’t tell how anxious he was.

“Sure, sounds like fun,” Bahorel nodded. 

“Really?” Jehan had to wonder if Bahorel understood exactly what he was trying to ask him.

“Yeah,” Bahorel grinned in response. “Hang on, let me just slip into something else.”

“Okay, sure,” Jehan nodded. “I’ll just be in the living room.”

As Bahorel retreated to his bedroom, Jehan headed back to the living room where Grantaire and Courfeyrac were still sitting on the couch. The only difference was that Courfeyrac was now vehemently glaring at the TV, which had the words GAME OVER written in large red letters.

“What was that about?” Grantaire asked curiously.

“I may or may not have just asked your roommate out,” Jehan threw himself down on the recliner next to the TV.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac exchanged surprised glances before turning their attention back to Jehan.

“What did he say?” they both said together.

“He said yes, but I’m not sure if he knows what that means,” Jehan said.

“I’m sure he knows what saying yes to going out meant,” Grantaire said, taking a swig of wine.

“But I didn’t exactly ask him out,” Jehan leaned his elbow against the arm of the recliner.

“Wait, then how did you do it?” Courfeyrac was clearly confused by this.

“I asked him if he wanted to go out for drinks tonight,” Jehan explained. 

“I think he’d assume that means a date,” Grantaire said. 

“I dunno,” Courfeyrac seemed less than sure. “This is ‘Rel we’re talking about.”

“But the fact that he said yes is a good thing, right?” Jehan looked back and forth between Courfeyrac and Grantaire. 

“Of course!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “Seriously, he hasn’t gone out for drinks with anyone in a very long time. This is definitely a good thing.”

“Good,” Jehan let out a breath he wasn’t aware that he’d been holding.

Grantaire looked like he was about to respond when Bahorel stepped into the room. He looked like he was ready to go to an industrial club and was wearing his favourite bondage pants, a hoodie with far too many belts and buckles for Jehan to count, and a pair of combat boots that looked like they’d seen better days.

“You look like you’re going to a riot,” Grantaire arched an eyebrow.

“This isn’t what I wear to riots and you know it,” Bahorel said before he turned to Jehan and asked, “Ready?”

Jehan nodded back and said, “When you are.”


	11. Doubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I'm getting this out later than I expected. I had a bad case of writer's block and as soon as I got it back, I had to get my wisdom teeth out, so there was no way I was feeling up to it then.
> 
> Aside from that, there's really not much else to say. I'm expecting this to be over in about two chapters, which makes me sad to say since I really like this story.

Courfeyrac wasn’t surprised to come out of his bedroom and find Grantaire curled up on the couch with a sketchbook in his lap and a pile of colourful pencils in a pile at his feet. He’d known Grantaire had an art project due on Monday, but he had assumed that the artist had finished the project long ago, since Grantaire often completed any works of art long before they were due.

Stretching his arms in front of him, Courfeyrac padded into the living room, trying his best to wake up. It was a particularly cold and rainy day for the beginning of March and despite his best attempts to stay up and work on his biology homework, Courfeyrac had managed to fall asleep. Two and a half hours later, he had awoken to find that he and Grantaire were the only ones in the apartment. This wasn’t surprising, as he knew that Enjolras was at class and Bahorel was at work, but even though he’d been living in the apartment for about two years, he still couldn’t get used to it being so empty.

“Good to see you’re awake,” Grantaire had heard Courfeyrac approach, though he was still sketching.

“How’d you know I was asleep?” Courfeyrac yawned, sitting in the arm-chair across from Grantaire. 

“I came in to tell you something, but you were out,” Grantaire dropped the pencil that he was holding and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I knew you’d been up studying all night, so I thought I’d let you rest.”

“Thanks,” Courfeyrac nodded. “So what did you need to tell me?”

“Apparently ‘Rel and Prouvaire and doubling with Enjolras and I at the club tonight,” Grantaire started to say.

“Wait, like a double date?” Courfeyrac suddenly sat up straight, his eyes wide. “Are they officially dating yet?”

“They’re not saying anything about it, but come on. They’ve been acting like a couple for the last three months,” Grantaire reached for the bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of him and took a drink. “Even Feuilly and Marius think they’re together and you know how oblivious those two are to these things.”

“I’m surprised Feuilly’s okay with this, though,” Courfeyrac ran his hand through his dark curls. “Considering their history together…”

“You know how Feuilly feels about this,” Grantaire said. “And besides, if he had a problem, he’d say something to them about it.”

“I guess that’s true,” Courfeyrac shrugged. “So why did you want to tell me that?”

“Because we won’t be home until late,” Grantaire responded. “We’re still figuring out if Bahorel is driving or if we’re taking the bus.”

“Probably want to take his car,” Courfeyrac responded. “The buses stop running after eleven, don’t they?”

“On the weekends, they go until about midnight,” Grantaire shook his head. “But I wanted to know if you and ‘Ferre wanted to join us.”

“He’s working late tonight,” Courfeyrac responded. 

“Things still going okay with you guys?” Grantaire asked, leaning back against the couch.

“Seems like it,” Courfeyrac nodded. “We’re planning on going to the movies tomorrow night and he said he wants me to meet his parents soon.”

“That’s a big step,” Grantaire said with a slight nod. “You ready for it?”

“I guess so,” Courfeyrac said with a nervous laugh. “Apparently I’m not like his other boyfriends, so I have no idea what they’re going to say.”

“Courfeyrac, you’re one of the nicest guys I know,” Grantaire assured him. “Honestly, I know my parents would love you and you know how anal retentive they are.”

“Your parents would only like me because I randomly sing the soundtracks to musicals and you know it,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “So when are you guys going?”

“Enjolras is meeting us there at ten,” Grantaire responded. 

Courfeyrac checked the time on his cell phone. 

“That’s in fifteen minutes, dude.”

“Yeah, and Bahorel was meant to be off half an hour ago,” Grantaire said as a knock sounded at the door.

Before either of them could go see who it was, the door opened and Jehan Prouvaire stepped into the apartment, shivering slightly as he took off his coat and hung it on the coatrack next to the door.

“Man, it’s cold out there,” he said.

“I guess Bahorel’s not with you, then,” Grantaire said, cleaning up his art supplies and putting them together in a pile.

“No, I was going to meet him here,” Prouvaire responded. “He texted me and told me that he was going to be late.”

“How nice that he told you and not his flatmates,” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. 

“Did he say what was keeping him?” Grantaire asked, his eyes following Prouvaire as the latter sat down on the other side of the couch. 

“Something about work and the difference between piccolos and contrabassoons?” Jehan was clearly confused about his friend’s text. “I really have no idea.”

“I guess he’ll show up when he shows up,” Grantaire shrugged.

“Say, Prouvaire, I’ve got a question for you,” Courfeyrac said, leaning back in his seat. 

“I’ve got an answer,” Jehan nodded.

“What exactly is going on between you and Bahorel now?” Courfeyrac asked. “You guys have been going out for nearly three months, so what’s the deal?”

“We haven’t-” Jehan started to say before he was interrupted by Grantaire.

“You guys go to clubs more than Bossuet and Joly do,” he took another sip of wine from the glass. “And that’s saying something.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re dating,” Jehan rolled his eyes.

“Are you still interested in him?” Grantaire asked, turning so he could face Jehan.

“Y-yes,” Jehan said quickly.

“Do you think he’s interested in you?” Grantaire asked.

“How am I meant to know that?” Jehan questioned. “It’s not like this is something we talk about.”

“But don’t you think you should have asked him by now?” Courfeyrac wondered.

“I would, but he’s been acting strangely lately,” Prouvaire said with a wistful sigh.

“Why?” Grantaire frowned. “What’s he been doing?”

“It’s really hard to explain. I feel like he’s hiding something,” Jehan stated. “It’s almost like there’s something he doesn’t want me knowing about.”

“What wouldn’t he want you to know?” Courfeyrac asked curiously. 

Jehan was spared from answering when Enjolras walked into the apartment, throwing his bag down on the ground and kicking off his shoes. He shoved his keys into his pocket and took off his coat, throwing it down on top of the bag, before he headed into the living room.

“What are you doing here?” Grantaire questioned. “I thought we were meeting you there?”

“Got bored,” Enjolras shrugged. “Decided to come home.”

“Did you happen to see ‘Rel in your travels?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Yeah, he was just pulling in when I got here,” Enjolras nodded. 

“About time,” Grantaire knocked back the remainder of the wine in his glass before standing up. “I’m going to get ready, then.”

“Shouldn’t you have done that already?” Prouvaire said to Grantaire’s retreating back as the latter went into his bedroom, art supplies in hand.

-

“Remind me never to let Grantaire pick the club again.”

Jehan looked up from his drink and found Bahorel staring at him from across the table, twirling a pair of chopsticks in his hand that he’d found in his pocket from the Chinese food that they’d had on the way to the club. Grantaire, who was sitting next to Bahorel, glared at him in annoyance.

“What’s so bad about this place?” Grantaire demanded. “I thought you liked going to gay bars every now and then?”

“Yes, but not ones that play ‘Born This Way’ every twenty minutes,” Bahorel rolled his eyes. “I’m all for marriage equality and what have you, but that song’s too damn annoying.”

“We’ve only heard it twice,” Enjolras said, his finger tracing the edge of his glass of soda. “And what did you expect to hear at a gay bar, anyway?”

“Something less pop-ish?” Bahorel shrugged, holding his hand over his eyes to shield his face from the bright strobe lights that had started going off for the third time in ten minutes. “And who ever heard of a gay piano bar?”

“You mean to tell me that you haven’t heard of one before now?” Grantaire was skeptical of this.

“No?” was Bahorel’s response. “This is going to be interesting, between the music choices and the strange retro 70s décor and all.”

“Not all bars and clubs play the same stuff that you listen to,” Jehan said, speaking for the first time in a few minutes. 

“Hey, I’m okay with pop music. I did live with Marius for a year, after all. I’m used to that stuff,” Bahorel said before taking a swig from the can of beer in front of him. “A lot of it is just whiny, though.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Grantaire nodded. 

“So whose idea was it to bring us along?” Bahorel asked, looking back and forth between Grantaire and Enjolras.

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked, nibbling on one of the cheese-fries from the plate on the table.

“Why’d you ask if Prouvaire and I want to double with you and Grantaire?” Bahorel wondered.

“We just thought you guys might want to have some fun with some people other than yourselves for a change,” Grantaire answered, shifting a bit in his seat.

Bahorel arched an eyebrow in seeming disbelief, but drank some more of his beer without a word. 

“Ooh, Enjolras, you like this song!” Grantaire exclaimed as a new song came on the speakers.

“Yes, I quite like One Republic,” Enjolras said with a nod.

“Let’s dance,” Grantaire was out of his seat, taking Enjolras by the hand and dragging him out onto the dance floor.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Enjolras tried to protest as he tried to remove Grantaire’s hand from his wrist.

“Geez, I forgot how much R loves to dance,” Bahorel commented with a smile.

“You know, I can see that,” Jehan said, raising his martini glass to his lips. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go get some more drinks, okay?” Bahorel said, scooting his chair back and standing up. “Want anything?” 

“How about a gimlet?” Prouvaire asked. “That sounds nice.”

“Got it,” Bahorel said with a nod before taking off in the direction of the bar.

Jehan sat by himself for a minute or two before another person took Enjolras’ spot at the table, much to Prouvaire’s surprise.

“Feuilly?” Jehan asked in confusion as he realized that the dark-haired man was present. “What are you doing here?”

“Bahorel let me borrow his house key and I’m giving it back,” Feuilly said, reaching into his pocket and placing a key on the wooden table. “He told me he was coming here tonight, so I thought I’d drop by.”

“Why’d you have his key?” Jehan asked skeptically.

“I needed to get something of Courf’s for work,” Feuilly said. “Where is everyone?”

“Bahorel is getting more drinks and Enjolras and Grantaire are out dancing,” Jehan answered, gesturing towards the two men in question out on the dance floor.

It took Feuilly a few seconds to find them before he said, “Ah yeah, I forgot how much Enjolras likes One Republic.”

“It’s so strange seeing Enjolras when he’s not serious,” Jehan said, his eyes on his friends on the dance floor.

“You’ve never seen this side of him?” Feuilly asked, turning his attention back to Jehan.

“Nope,” Jehan shook his head. “And I’m still surprised to see him with Grantaire, to be honest. They just don’t seem like they’d get on well at all.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but Enjolras really does care for Grantaire,” Feuilly explained, sensing that Prouvaire was confused. “He just has a very strange way of showing it. And he almost never shows that when he’s with other people.”

“Is that so?” Jehan questioned.

“Things are going well between them right now,” Feuilly said. “I just hope it lasts.”

“Hmm,” Jehan nodded.

“Where’s ‘Rel, anyway?” Feuilly asked.

“How do you know he’s here?” Jehan questioned.

“Because it’s a Friday night and you two have been going out every Friday night for the last three months?” Feuilly had pulled out his phone and was spinning it around on the table.

“Oh,” Jehan hadn’t thought of that. 

“And because his phone’s right there on the table,” Feuilly pointed to the phone sitting across the table from Jehan. “And he told me that he’d be here, remember?”

“Well, he was getting us drinks,” Jehan responded. “He’s taking a while, though.” 

“Maybe there’s a line at the bar?” Feuilly said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Well, tell him I dropped the key off. I’ve got to get home.”

“Can’t stay for a drink?” Jehan asked.

“Got the morning shift tomorrow,” Feuilly shook his head. “Thanks, though.”

“See ya,” Jehan said as Feuilly walked off. 

It didn’t take long for the table to become crowded again. Grantaire and Enjolras returned to the table after the song, just before forcing Jehan up to the piano across the bar when the pianist asked for any players.

“It’s what they do on Friday nights. They get players to play songs,” Grantaire had said before taking a swig of wine. “Haven’t you done this before?”

“Um, no?” Prouvaire had responded as Enjolras pushed him in the direction of the piano.

Prouvaire had thought it had gone reasonably well. For once, his stage fright wasn’t kicking in. The only thing in the room was himself and the piano in front of him.

Until he saw Bahorel back at the table with Enjolras and Grantaire.

And then he suddenly couldn’t move.

Though it was fortunate for Jehan because it was at a natural pause in the song. He just happened to pause for a lot longer than necessary.

“Really, Prouvaire?” Enjolras commented when he returned to the table a few minutes later, sitting next to Bahorel. “You had to play Hey Monday?”

“I like it,” Jehan shrugged before he turned to Bahorel and said, “What took you?”

“I got us some mozzarella sticks,” Bahorel pushed a basket of fried cheese sticks towards Jehan.

“Thanks, mate,” Grantaire reached for the food before Bahorel slapped his hand.

“I didn’t buy them for you, idiot,” Bahorel rolled his eyes before he turned back to Jehan and said, “They were out of the stuff for gimlets, so I got you a Guinness instead.”

“Thanks,” Jehan took a sip of the drink Bahorel slid in front of him. 

“Hey, Jehan, come outside for a second?” Grantaire said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Need a smoke.”

“Thought you were trying to quit?” Bahorel narrowed his eyes.

“Not when I’ve got six projects due within three days of each other,” Grantaire said before turning back to Prouvaire. “Coming?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jehan obliged and pushed his chair back and followed Grantaire out of the bar. “So what’s up?”

“Need to ask you about Bahorel,” Grantaire said as they moved a few feet away from the bar and into a dimly lit alley.

“What about him?” Jehan asked. “We already talked about him at the apartment.”

“Yes, but you never really gave us an answer,” Grantaire pulled a lighter out of his pocket and clicked it a few times, lighting the cigarette in his hand before putting it to his lips. “So are you dating him yet?”

“Not yet,” Jehan shook his head. 

“Really? You’ve done just about everything already short of sex, right?” Grantaire blew smoke off to the side.

“Well…” Jehan was clearly trying to avoid the subject.

Grantaire’s eyes grew wide and he said, “Jehan Prouvaire, did you fuck Bahorel?”

“I don’t know,” Jehan shook his head.

“How do you not know?” Grantaire frowned in confusion. 

“There was a night a few weeks ago where we both got drunk and ended up at my flat,” Jehan explained, leaning against the cold brick wall behind him. “I remember that we kissed, which was awesome, by the way, but I can’t remember if we actually had sex or not.”

“That explains where he was that night. Courf and I were wondering what happened,” Grantaire took a drag on his cigarette before saying, “But did he say anything about it?”

“Not a word,” Jehan shook his head. “I woke up in my bed, he was already awake and making coffee in the kitchen. I don’t know if we were actually sleeping together or not. We haven’t spoken of that night since.”

“Huh,” Grantaire said simply.

“I guess he doesn’t really want to go out with me, then,” Jehan said sadly. “If he did, he’d have said something by now, right?”

“Prouvaire, I don’t think that Bahorel would have agreed to go out with us tonight or with you any time since then if he wasn’t interested,” 

“You sure?” Jehan asked.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” Grantaire asked, taking another drag on his cigarette. “Because from what I see, he looks at you the same way that Marius looks at Cosette.”

“Or like Eponine looks at Marius?” Prouvaire offered.

“It’s a shame that’ll never happen now,” Grantaire said. “But really, don’t give up on him yet. Not while you still have a shot at this.”

“Yeah,” Jehan nodded slowly. “Thanks, R.”

“Anytime, man,” Grantaire flicked the butt of his cigarette on the cement, rubbing it out with his foot. “Now come on, let’s get back inside before Enjolras and Bahorel wonder what’s going on.”


	12. Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been causing problems for a while. I've had this exact chapter planned since the beginning of the story and yet when I went to write it, nothing worked. I re-wrote the damn thing about five times and I'm still not completely satisfied with the result, but it's the closest I'll ever be. I'm sad to say that the next chapter will be the last, but that's how it works, I guess.

Bahorel didn’t have to open his eyes to know that he was not in his bedroom. Over the years, he’d grown quite accustomed to Feuilly’s apartment: the way it smelled, the way the sun came through the curtains at a very specific time of day, the way how it was, for one reason or another, always colder than any other room in the apartment. 

What Bahorel didn’t understand was why he was in Feuilly’s flat and, more importantly, why he was sleeping in Feuilly’s bed. They still had the occasional sleepover whenever they wanted to hang out, but Bahorel hadn’t remembered them agreeing on having such a night recently. Especially since Feuilly had been at work until late the previous night, which meant that he would want to do nothing more than to curl up on the couch and have a “Breaking Bad” marathon while indulging in some leftover Thai food and would prefer to not have to entertain people.

Yawning, Bahorel rolled over onto his back and tried to open his eyes, but quickly squeezed them shut again when the sunlight caused his head to feel like it was going to explode. Bahorel pieced the information together and realized that he must have gotten drunk and ended up at Feuilly’s apartment instead of his own. The main thing on his mind was how he’d ended up there in the first place.

A few minutes later, he found himself pulling on his jeans, which were resting on Feuilly’s desk chair, and walking out of the bedroom in search for his friend. It didn’t take long to find him.

“The fuck am I doing here?” Bahorel asked groggily as he slid open the door to the balcony and sat down on the floor across from where Feuilly was sitting, drinking a mug of coffee and playing a game on his phone. 

“Good morning to you, too,” Feuilly said, eyes on Bahorel as the latter ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t remember last night?” 

“Not really,” Bahorel shook his head. 

“Do you remember seeing Axel in front of your apartment?” Feuilly asked as he reached for the mug with his hand.

“Ah, fuck…” Bahorel closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the balcony railing. “I’m guessing that I got shitfaced after that?”

“Oh yeah,” Feuilly sipped on the coffee.

“Wait, where did-”

“I was coming home from work and saw you attempting to walk back from the bar,” Feuilly said, setting the mug down on the floor next to him. 

“I was that bad that you needed to take me home?” 

“I said I’d take you back to your place, but you said that you didn’t want to be there,” Feuilly’s eyes were on the smaller man. “Do you know why Axel was at your flat last night?”

“He said he was in the area and he wanted to stop by. Apparently he recognized my car in the parking lot,” Bahorel groaned, rubbing his hands against his face, as if that would make the dull throbbing pain in his head go away.

“With all of the stickers on it, its hard to miss,” Feuilly offered a small smile as he drank some more of his coffee. His expression turned serious when he asked, “He didn’t want to get back together, did he?”

“No, he didn’t,” Bahorel shook his head. 

“Good. I didn’t want to have to remind you of what he did to you last time,” Feuilly looked relieved.

“Didn’t I tell you any of this last night?” Bahorel asked. “I was sure I had.”

“Oh, you told me a great deal of things last night,” Feuilly had a mysterious grin on his face that made Bahorel quite confused. “You say very interesting things when you’re drunk, Bahorel.”

“Wait, what did I say?” Bahorel frowned, worried that he had said things that he had no right to be saying. 

“No, I’m not telling you this one,” Feuilly shook his head, though the smile was still on his lips. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say this for months and I only heard you say it for the first time last night. You need to realize the importance of what you told me.”

“Well, you’ve got to give me some sort of a hint,” Bahorel drew his knees up to his chest. 

“Just think about what happened,” Feuilly said, his fingers tracing the rim of the coffee mug.

“Axel came over and I got shitfaced,” Bahorel said simply. 

“And why did you do that?” Bahorel was starting to feel like he was being psychoanalyzed.

“Because I really didn’t want to see him,” Bahorel responded. “I’d finally managed to move past that and a lot of things came back to me.” He hesitated for a minute before he quietly said, “It made me realize a few things.”

“What things?” Feuilly asked.

“Seriously?” Bahorel arched an eyebrow at Feuilly. “You’re going to make me do that?”

“Yes, because you need to do this in order to remember what you told me last night,” Feuilly said. “You’ve never admitted this to anyone and I know you’ve been thinking it for the last few months.”

“But what was it about?” Bahorel tried to get more information out of him.

“Do you remember what happened when we got back here?” Feuilly slid off the chair and down onto the floor so he could meet Bahorel eye to eye. 

“We watched ‘Music and Lyrics’,” Bahorel replied.

“And why did we watch that?” Feuilly was clearly leading him somewhere, but Bahorel couldn’t figure out where he was going.

“Because it’s one of Prouvaire’s favourite movies,” Bahorel answered.

“Why were you thinking about Prouvaire last night?” Feuilly could see the gears turning in Bahorel’s head as he processed this information.

“Because Axel coming over last night got me thinking about him.”

“And why did that happen?”

“Because I’m in love with him.”

Bahorel realized what he had said as soon as the words left his mouth and eyes grew wide as he understood the gravity of what he had just said. He pursed his lips together into a thin line and turned to look at Feuilly, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“About time you actually said it.”

“Did I really say that last night?” Bahorel asked slowly.

 

“And again just now,” Feuilly nodded.

“Fucking hell,” Bahorel groaned as he leaned back against the rails. “I guess I really can’t deny it.”

“You’ve been denying it?” Feuilly frowned. 

“I didn’t want to get into something that could turn out like what happened with Axel,” Bahorel explained as he fished through the pockets of his jeans for a cigarette and a lighter. 

“’Rel, what are you doing?” Feuilly knew that he was one of the few who was allowed to use that name. “I thought you were trying to quit?”

“I’m fucking stressed and need a smoke?” Bahorel phrased the response like a question as his fingers fumbled with the lighter until an orange flame erupted from the tip.

“Okay, it’s not the end of the world,” Feuilly said gently.

“You know what I’m talking about, Feuilly,” Bahorel held the cigarette to his lips. “What we talked about the last time I was here?”

“You mean what happened a few weeks about with Prouvaire?” Feuilly rested his elbow on his knee. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“What if I made a huge mistake that night?” One of Bahorel’s tell tale signs of stress was talking quickly. He’d done it as long as Feuilly had known him. Even if he seemed fine, it always gave him away and at that moment, he was talking so fast that Feuilly could hardly understand him. “What if that completely fucked things up?”

“Obviously it didn’t screw things up that badly because you guys still hang out,” Feuilly said. “And you don’t even know if you actually slept with him or not.”

“He hasn’t mentioned that night to me at all since it happened,” Bahorel took another drag on his cigarette before tapping the ashes over the porch rail. “I’m not sure what it’s meant to mean, but he’s been acting differently ever since then.”

“How do you figure?” Feuilly wondered.

“It’s really hard to explain. He just seems a little distant around me, I guess,” Bahorel sighed, unable to put his feelings into words. “I mean, we still hang out and I can tell he still wants to be friends, but dammit, now I’m just getting confused.”

“You could always try saying something to him,” Feuilly felt like he was suggesting the obvious, but he knew Bahorel probably wouldn’t think of it. 

“But what if things get fucked up like what happened with Axel?” Bahorel took another drag on his cigarette. “I can’t go through something like that again.”

“As I’ve said from the beginning, I can’t see Jehan doing something like that,” Feuilly raised the mug to his lips and finished the last of his coffee. “And as I’ve also said from the beginning, this could be really good for you, so why not give it a shot?” When Bahorel didn’t respond, he added, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could fuck up our friendship?” Bahorel said quickly, but he sighed and said, “But I guess there’s nothing I can do now.”

“What do you mean?” Feuilly asked.

“I meant that I can’t stop thinking about him,” Bahorel said. “And since I’m apparently in love with him, there’s only one thing I can do.”

-

As much as he hated being in the industrial club, with the bright flashing lights and the loud music and the overpowering smell of smoke and stale beer, Jehan Prouvaire had to admit that he loved watching Bahorel dance. It wasn’t a formal dance as much as it was just him flailing his arms in whichever direction he wanted and moving in sync with the music, but it was still fun for Jehan to watch. It was a side of Bahorel that he never let loose, not even when the two of them were alone, and Jehan rather liked seeing him this relaxed.

“Nice moves out there,” Jehan grinned at Bahorel as the latter walked back to the bar. 

“Can’t pass up a good Nachtmahr song, now can I?” Bahorel accepted the beer that Jehan offered him and took a drink.

“Sure you should drink tonight?” Jehan asked. “Courfeyrac said that you had a bit of a rough night last night.”

“I just won’t drink as much tonight,” Bahorel said. “I’ll be fine.”

“Did you know he was going to show up?” Jehan had to hold his hand up to avoid the glaring strobe lights that loomed overhead.

“Not at all,” Bahorel was clearly uneasy, so Jehan decided to change the subject.

He was spared from having to come up with a new topic of conversation, however, when one of the bartenders approached them, looking quite surprised to see both of them.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see guys here tonight,” he said.

“What’s up, Adam?” Bahorel was apparently friendly with the man and gave him a nod. “Didn’t know you were working tonight.”

“Yeah, Cassie’s pretending to be sick again, so I’m covering her shift tonight,” the man called Adam said as the song on the speakers changed again. He turned towards Jehan and said, “And you brought your boyfriend tonight, too?”

Bahorel and Jehan glanced at each other for the briefest of seconds before Bahorel replied, “Oh, we’re not actually dating.”

“Really?” Adam looked between the two of them in surprise. “You guys come in together a lot and judging from the way I’ve seen you two look at each other, I thought you’d be dating by now.”

He was about to say something else, but was called away by one of the customers at the other end of the bar. Bahorel and Jehan simply sat in silence, or as silent as it can be at an industrial club, and stared at each other.

“Well, then…” Jehan had turned a rather deep shade of red and was fidgeting nervously with the zipper on his jacket.

“Thank god I can smoke in here because I really need one,” Bahorel pulled out the lighter and cigarettes he’d found earlier.

“You only smoke when you’re stressed…” Jehan said slowly.

“That’s because I am,” Bahorel responded with a nervous laugh, lighting the cigarette between his fingers.

“Was it what he said?” Jehan gestured towards Adam at the other end of the bar.

“I hadn’t realized that I was that obvious,” Bahorel said softly, more to himself than to Prouvaire.

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Jehan really wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading.

“Let’s just say that I kissed you for a reason that night,” Bahorel tapped the ashes into a nearby ashtray. “Even if I didn’t want to admit it on a conscious level, I still knew.” He looked at Jehan and said, “I guess my inebriated mind knew what my sober mind wanted me to do for months.” 

It took Jehan a few seconds for him to process what Bahorel was telling him. He was watching to see what the other man was doing to see if it could shed some sort of light on the situation. He was so sure he knew what Bahorel was telling him, but was still wondering if he had misunderstood.

“So what you’re saying is-”

“Yes.”

“But why didn’t you-”

“I told you what happened the last time I got serious with someone. Did you really think I’d want to go through that again?”

“But you know I’d never do anything like that to you.”

“I know, but I somehow couldn’t force myself to believe that you were even interested.”

“Wait, why the hell wouldn’t I be interested?” Jehan was taken aback by Bahorel’s statement. “Are you seriously not aware of how attractive you are?” 

“I don’t think I’m attractive at all,” Bahorel shook his head, putting his cigarette to his lips. “And I mean, look at us. We even look like we’re into completely different things.”

“But we’re not,” Jehan told him. “And I wouldn’t have tried so hard to get you if I wasn’t interested.”

“Huh,” Bahorel had to admit that he was surprised. “Well, I wasn’t expecting this, of all things, to happen tonight.” He sighed and said, “So what happens now?”

“I’d like to say that this happens,” Jehan inched forward in his seat so he could press his lips to Bahorel’s for a few seconds before scooting back. “My turn to kiss you now.”

“I guess what we both know what this means?” Bahorel seemed to relax a bit and even managed to smile a bit.

“I’ve been waiting to say yes for months,” Jehan grinned in response.

“Just so you know, if you ever pull something like Axel did, I’m almost positive that you’ll have Feuilly and Courfeyrac to answer to,” Bahorel informed Jehan. “Maybe not Courfeyrac, but you’ll definitely have to answer to Feuilly. And I’m sure you don’t want to have one of my ex-boyfriends hounding you.”

“Duly noted,” Jehan nodded. “Now were we going to sit here at the bar all night or were we actually going to go dance?” 

Bahorel hopped down from the barstool and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”


	13. Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as it pains me to say this, this is the final chapter! And I do apologize for it coming out so late. I've been very busy and stressed with so many things. But the important thing is that its finished and I hope you guys like what I've done. Thanks for reading this far and sticking with me until the end!

Bahorel was quite relieved when he woke up in his own bed instead of Feuilly’s the next morning. He’d woken up in random places in Feuilly’s apartment over the years, but never under such circumstances. There was one strange thing that Bahorel noticed- Jehan Prouvaire was sleeping next to him.

“That’s strange,” Bahorel thought to himself, propping himself up on one elbow to stare at the sleeping man. “Then I guess last night actually happened.”

He slid back down, throwing back the covers a little bit, and simply laid on his back, staring at the ceiling until he felt Jehan moving as he woke up. Looking to his right, he noticed that Jehan actually was awake and glancing around the room in a way that reminded Bahorel of a cat waking up from a long nap. 

“Morning,” Bahorel said simply.

“Before anything else happens, I just have to ask one thing,” Jehan said, his voice raspy. “Did I fuck up anything last night?”

“So you don’t remember what happened at the club?” Bahorel could have sworn his heart stopped beating. 

“I want to make sure we didn’t get so drunk that we ended up fucking or something like that,” Jehan said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Seeing as I’m wearing boxers right now, that would be kind of hard,” Bahorel offered him a small smile. 

“Oh, right, so am I,” Jehan said, just now realizing that simple fact. “And yes, I do remember what happened at the club.”

“Do you still mean what you said last night?” Bahorel turned over on his side, propping himself up with an elbow. “What you said yes to?”

“Of course I do,” Jehan nodded. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” He yawned before he said, “But I don’t see why we’re both in your bed instead of me being at my own flat.”

“If I remember right, you told me that you wanted to stay at my place. Something about Joly and Bossuet having a fight that you wanted to get away from,” Bahorel tried to brush his hair with his fingers to clear up some of the tangles, but seemed to do no good. “I offered to stay on the couch and let you have the bed, but you said that you’d rather I sleep with you.”

“I do remember that part,” Jehan turned over onto his back and stretched his arms out in front of him. 

“So…” Bahorel said slowly. “What happens now?” 

“What do you mean?” Jehan frowned slightly. “We’re going to get up and have breakfast.”

“That’ll be interesting to explain to my flatmates,” Bahorel mused. “As far as I know, they think you’re at your own place.”

“Does that bother you?” Jehan asked.

“No, but I’ll have to deal with Courfeyrac bugging me about if we’re going out yet or not,” Bahorel sighed in annoyance.

“But we are not,” Jehan replied before adding a cautious, “Aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” Bahorel answered. “Ah, he won’t be getting on my case about it anymore. This weekend just keeps getting better and better.”

“Has he been doing it very long?” Jehan wondered, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“Since I first told him about you, actually,” Bahorel said, giving Prouvaire a gentle kiss on the lips before saying, “Come on, let’s get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of hungry. Any ideas for breakfast?”

“I think I smell someone making pancakes already,” Jehan answered as the two got out of bed and started to get dressed.

Bahorel stopped in the middle of pulling on a new pair of jeans and said, “Huh. How about that. Must be Grantaire.”

“Or anyone else in your flat,” Jehan suggested.

“Grantaire and I are the only ones who make real breakfast food. Courfeyrac burns everything and Enjolras refuses to make it,” Bahorel said. “Do you want to wear something of mine that isn’t covered in the grossness from the club last night? I think I might have that shirt you let me borrow a few weeks ago.”

“The black one with the dragons on it?” Jehan asked as Bahorel crossed the room to his wardrobe, throwing open the doors and searching through the sea of black shirts for the proper garment.

“That’s the one,” Bahorel said with a slight nod before triumphantly crying, “Aha!” and tossing the shirt to Jehan. “There. Now I’ve returned it.”

“Better late than never,” Jehan grinned, pulling the shirt over his head. 

“Hey, Feuilly still has some of my things that I lent him when we were dating and that was years ago,” Bahorel shrugged, grabbing a shirt from the wardrobe and putting it on before he suddenly stopped.

“Everything okay?” Jehan asked hesitantly, noticing that Bahorel had only succeeded in getting partially dressed.

“I just realized that if we smell pancakes, that means that everyone else must be up, too,” Bahorel slowly finished putting on the shirt.

“Or just Grantaire,” Jehan picked his hoodie up off of the floor.

“Grantaire doesn’t start making breakfast unless we’re all up,” Bahorel shook his head. 

“But he didn’t wait for you this time,” Jehan pointed out. 

“You’re right! Bastard,” Bahorel muttered to himself as he padded out of the room with Prouvaire following closely behind him. 

It didn’t take long for them to reach the kitchen. They had to step over a few of Grantaire’s art projects that lay scattered across the hallway, but they managed to make it to their destination without destroying any of them.

“Enjolras is always yelling at R for leaving them lying around,” Bahorel explained to Jehan offhandedly as he darted around a Picasso-esque portrait.

They reached the kitchen to find Combeferre and Courfeyrac seated at the table, each with a plate of pancakes, and Grantaire leaning against the counter, sipping coffee from a mug that Courfeyrac had made in one of his ceramics classes a few years prior. All three of them looked rather confused when they saw that Bahorel was joined by Jehan, who, in turn, was wondering why his flatmate was there.

“What’s going on, Combeferre?” Jehan asked, waiting in the doorway while Bahorel moved swiftly to the fridge and retrieved two bottles of soda.

“I told Courf I’d join him for breakfast this morning,” Combeferre explained.

“I think the question is what are you doing here, Prouvaire?” Grantaire said, his fingers drumming the side of the mug in his hands.

“Does that matter?” Bahorel slid back a chair at the table as he tossed one of the sodas to Jehan, who caught it with one hand. 

“It does when we weren’t expecting to see him this morning,” Courfeyrac said before adding, “Not that we aren’t glad to see you.”

“Oh, I know,” Jehan nodded, twisting the top off of his soda.

“So are there any pancakes left, R?” Bahorel asked casually. “And where’s Enjolras?”

“Enjolras got called in to work and there should be enough,” Grantaire nodded towards the skillet behind him, which was currently cooking a few pancakes. “Now don’t dodge the question. Why is Jehan Prouvaire here this morning?”

“We don’t have any rules about surprise sleep overs,” Bahorel drank some of his soda.

“No, but we’re all wondering if…” Courfeyrac started to say before Combeferre gave him a rather pointed look and he shut his mouth again.

“Wondering if what?” Jehan asked, leaning forward in his seat.

“Wondering if you two fucked last night,” Grantaire said bluntly before he turned his back on the group and started to flip the pancakes.

“Grantaire!” Combeferre exclaimed, glaring at the man.

“Why the shit would you ask that?” Bahorel demanded, looking at each of his flatmates in turn.

“Because I remember what you told me a while ago,” Courfeyrac explained, spinning his fork around in a circle on the table. “And Grantaire was wondering the same thing.”

“I’d suspected for a long time, but I never said anything about it, Jehan, because I knew what you told me, but didn’t want to push you into telling me something you weren’t ready to,” Combeferre said as Grantaire brought over pancakes to his and Courfeyrac’s plates.

“Well, we didn’t fuck, just so you know,” Bahorel said, standing up to get pancakes for himself and Prouvaire.

“Oh,” Courfeyrac said simply.

“I guess that’s that, then,” Grantaire shrugged.

“But that doesn’t mean that we’re not together, though,” Jehan said, taking the plate of pancakes that Bahorel offered him.

“Wait, what?” Courfeyrac asked, clearly confused.

“We went to the club last night and he said that he felt like staying at my place instead of his, so I let him sleep in my room,” Bahorel said, drowning his pancakes with syrup, much to the disgust of Grantaire, who looked slightly sickened by his roommate’s actions. “I didn’t think you guys would mind.”

“No, but what does Jehan mean, Bahorel?” Courfeyrac demanded.

“Oh yeah, we’re going out now,” Bahorel said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Say what now?” Grantaire exclaimed while Courfeyrac and Combeferre merely looked surprised.

“A bit of an overdramatic reaction?” Jehan arched an eyebrow as he cut his food.

“But you were afraid to say anything to him a few months ago!” Combeferre pointed out, his eyes on Jehan as the latter ate his breakfast.

“And same with you, Bahorel,” Courfeyrac said. 

“So what changed your minds?” Grantaire asked before lifting the mug of coffee to his lips again.

Bahorel and Jehan looked at each other and Jehan said, “It just sort of happened?”

“But only last night, right?” Courfeyrac demanded. “This hasn’t been going on for months, has it? Because I’ll be pretty pissed if it has.”

“No, it was just last night, Courf,” Bahorel said, drinking his soda. 

“Enjolras will be happy to hear this,” Grantaire nodded. “Even he could see what was going on between you two.”

“Well fuck, Jehan, if even Enjolras could see it, I guess we were both a bit oblivious,” Bahorel shrugged.

“A bit?” Combeferre and Courfeyrac said together.

“Okay, we get it,” Jehan rolled his eyes.

“So what are the plans for the day?” Combeferre asked the group at large. “I’ve got a research paper to work on.”

“Art projects,” Grantaire sighed. 

“Work,” Courfeyrac didn’t look too happy about this.

“Same,” Jehan nodded.

“Band practice at noon before work,” Bahorel grimaced.

“Sounds like a long day for all of us,” Combeferre leaned his elbow on the table.

“Hey, one of the bars down by the campus is having a half-off wing night,” Grantaire said. “We could all double? Or triple now? Is that even a thing?”

“Well, we’ll make it a thing,” Jean shrugged. “Sounds like a great idea.”


End file.
